


little plastic crown

by ls201



Series: little plastic crown [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Harm, fem!luke hemmings, fem!michael clifford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 28
Words: 54,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3215069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ls201/pseuds/ls201
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>luke hemmings doesn't let anyone in. her circle of friends is restricted to michael clifford and calum hood, and it's been that way for a long time now. then she meets ashton irwin, and everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE 5/8/2015 : I just changed the title of this story to Little Plastic Crown, as I feel it is more fitting than the original title. I'm going to go through and try to edit all my references to the old title (glass heart, paper skin, broken smile, or commonly referred to as Glass Heart), but just be aware of its old title in case I miss one.
> 
> Hi there! I'm L, one of the two authors you'll find on this account. This is my first 5SOS work (the other one on this account was published by the other owner, T). I'm so grateful to be a part of this lovely community, and thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy. :) Of course, this work is very triggering, so PLEASE be careful. If you need me to tag anything, please message me and I will definitely do that! 
> 
> Trigger warning for this chapter would be rape. Again, if you need any additional tags added, please message me -- and if you're ever unsure about whether a chapter will trigger you, PLEASE message me. Your safety is more important. 
> 
> Sorry for the long note, and thank you so much for reading! I hope you'll decide to stick with me. 
> 
> -L

One

_Save me from who I’m supposed to be_

_-Social Casualty_

How, exactly, does one write the introduction to a memoir? Not just any memoir, but specifically, a detailed memoir of their late teenage years, to be preserved for times’ sake and generations to come (or really, for Mum to pull out at dinner parties when she’s feeling nostalgic — wait, if Mum’s going to be looking at this, should I include cursing? Whatever, I’ll edit it out later, this is just a rough draft for my personal collection).

I guess it’s always a good idea to start with a name, so here’s mine: Luke Hemmings. Truthfully, my given name is Lucania Roberta Hemmings, but I go by Luke for a couple of reasons. First of all, when I was about three or four, my parents realized how difficult it would be for me to spell the dumbass name they’d given me, so they decided I needed a nickname. Now, a normal parent would get a girly nickname from the already quite feminine nomenclature of Lucania, but apparently my parents decided that was just too simple for them. Before I was born, they’d wagered on a son anyway, after two sons before me, so my parents had prepared to name me Luke. Of course, I showed up with a vagina, so right along with all the “I Love Monster Trucks!” shirts my parents had received during my mother’s pregnancy, the name Luke was thrown out. Years later, this caused my parents to brilliantly decide that my nickname would not be Lucy, as any rational person would derive from Lucania, but I would instead be called Luke. And thus began a long lifetime of confusion for my parents’ darling, surprise daughter.

Of course, over the years, I’ve grown to appreciate my strange nickname. It certainly sets me apart from other girls, and the puzzled looks on teachers’ faces can be quite amusing the first few times. Plus, my nickname led me to my eccentric best friend, Michaela Clifford (or “Michael,” as she prefers to go by). The happiest day of my life was that day in kindergarten, when I discovered I was not the only girl in my class with a name more fitting of the opposite sex. Ever since, Michael and I have been inseparable, as frustrating as that is for our parents. The Cliffords don’t seem as bothered by my presence as my parents are by Michael’s, and perhaps that’s because my only rebellious features are my lip ring and penance for ripped jeans and band t-shirts, whereas Michael’s defining trait is her hair color, which changes on a weekly basis. If you name a hair color, Michael’s probably had it, and I swear she’ll be bald by twenty.

So, Michael’s my absolute best mate, but as far as other friends… Well, the only other friend I really have is Calum Hood. Calum’s a guy, which meant that the many sleepovers with the opposite sex had to stop once Michael and I reached puberty, but he’s the chillest guy I’ve ever met. Calum’s insanely attractive — tousled, dark brown hair, dark eyes, an easy smile, and the nicest cheekbones this side of Australia — but I’ve never tried to hook up with him. Calum’s seen me in too many compromising situations to be romantically attracted to me, and I feel the same way about him. As for Michael…. Well, that’s a different story, but a different story for another time. Anyway, Calum likes the ladies, and whenever we take him out on the town, he attempts to bring home the first girl he meets. Calum is the designated driver, mainly because he’s 18 and can navigate Sydney like the back of his hand, but also because Michael is struggling to maintain her provisional license, and my family can’t afford to buy me a car, since we’re sending Ben and Jack through university. Considering Calum’s the designated driver, we often have to wrench these girls off of him and force Calum into the car. He never drinks when he’s the designated driver, but boy, Calum can't get enough of girls.

What else is there to cover in an introduction? Oh, I suppose a romantic interest, if there is one — which there isn’t. I have had a boyfriend before, but that didn’t end too well. His name was Alex Parker, and I never thought I’d get him. He’s easily the most gorgeous boy at my school, Norwest High School, with wavy auburn hair, gorgeous green eyes, and a set of muscles to rival a professional rugby player’s — fitting, seeing as Alex is the captain of the school’s rugby team. I met him back when we were little kids in elementary school, and had a crush on him from the start. Over the years, I’d forgotten about Alex, as he’d never notice me anyway, but one day in Year 10, I bumped into Alex in the hallway, he flashed me his award-winning smile, and it was all said and done. Suddenly, word around the school was that Alex Parker, captain of the rugby team and thief of young girls’ hearts, had a crush on Luke Hemmings, freakishly tall nobody with a weird name and useless bracelet collection.

I tried not to believe the rumors at first. After all, rumors are just that, rumors, and I’ve never been one to put faith in the school rumor mill — not with the experience I’ve had with it. But Alex only encouraged these rumors — he began to talk to me more in English class, caught me in the hallway to ask if I could help with the rugby team’s fundraiser, casually invited me to parties thrown by people I’d never heard of. This went on for about a month, before I finally couldn’t take it anymore and decided to go to one of those stupid parties. This party was a particularly big one, thrown by the captain of the cheerleading squad, Sydney Jones — yes, her parents were so proud of their little newborn baby that they’d named her after the city she was born in. Sydney was beautiful, dark hair and eyes a lovely contrast to Alex’s paler tones, and she would have been the perfect complement to Alex. If Sydney and Alex had ended up together, they certainly would have been voted Couple of the Year. But Alex had other plans in mind.

I wandered around Sydney’s house for quite a while, holding a lukewarm beer that I sipped occasionally to calm my nerves. I searched for a familiar face, but never found one until I got to Sydney’s pool outside, where most of the activity seemed to be. There, sitting by the side of the pool and surrounded by laughing friends, was Alex Parker. The butterflies in my stomach were the only signal that I’d somehow fallen for this boy, this boy that I barely knew, over the course of a month. These butterflies refused to stop fluttering, especially as Alex got up, walked over to me, and kissed me full on the mouth. Maybe he was a little drunk, maybe it had been a dare, but the chemistry we had was undeniable. A few hours later, Alex was asking me out on a date, and I certainly couldn’t say no to that — not after that kiss. Alex and I dated for a year, and we broke up in the middle of Year 11. Our relationship was picturesque in the beginning; Alex was a true gentleman, bringing me flowers, opening doors and asking permission for a kiss (the party had been an exception). But once we reached the six-month mark, something changed. Alex was a little rougher with his kisses, a little more demanding in what he asked for, a little more exploratory with his hands when we made out. At first, I was okay with this; Alex was a boy, after all, and boys had urges. Then, one day in August, everything took a turn for the worse. I was at Alex’s place, doing homework in his room. Alex got a little antsy, and we decided to take a break for a quick make-out session. Everything seemed to be going fine until Alex started to pull off my top. I pulled it back down, explained to him that I wasn’t ready, and thought everything would be fine.

I was wrong. Alex begged and pleaded with me, told me I had been teasing him for so long and if I really loved him, I would give him this. So I did. That chilly August afternoon, I lost my virginity to Alex Parker, and I hated every minute of it. I’d always had this picture in my mind that it would be beautiful, romantic, slow, gentle, caring, and it was none of that. It was awkward fumbling, muffled cries of pain and silent tears of regret that can’t change what you’ve just done. It hurt, so badly that I couldn’t walk properly the next day (Alex was proud of this and thought it said something about his size), and after it was over, I quickly packed up and endured a painful bike ride home, claiming I needed to do something for my parents.

In the end, Alex didn’t really care if I enjoyed sex or not, because he continued with his ways — begging, pleading, blaming me for teasing him until I gave in. It never felt good, not once, and I began to fear the times that I’d be alone with Alex. I worried for my future, scared that all any man wanted was constant sex, and began to shy away from Calum’s touch whenever we hung out together. It wasn’t just the sex, either — once Alex realized I had become completely submissive to him, he decided that he didn’t even have to use nice words to ask for what he wanted, and began to call me names when I refused to comply with one of his various demands.

Eventually, Michael and Calum caught on that something was wrong. It was a pleasantly warm November day, two months before my year anniversary with Alex, and I’d just arrived at Michael’s house after another unpleasant session of sex in the back of his brand-new sedan. Something must have tipped her off that I was in pain — perhaps the funny way I walked, or the uncomfortable expression on my face — because she offered me an Advil, which I gladly took. Calum arrived, and my walls instantly went up, as I’d learned not to feel comfortable around any man. Calum tried to give me a hug, and something inside me broke. I backed away from Calum and began to sob, chest heaving with all the pain Alex had caused me these past few months. I had finally broken, and as Michael pulled me into her arms, I began to tell her what Alex had done. Michael punched a hole in her wall, and Calum had to drive us to the hospital as Michael cradled her broken knuckle.

My friends begged me to break up with Alex, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I feared what would happen if I said “no” to him for the first time in months, what he might do to me if I didn’t give him just what he wanted. And thus, one drunken night at Michael’s house, I started a very toxic stage in my relationship with my best friend — something you might call “friends with benefits.” Truthfully, it only damaged our relationship for a while, and we’re better friends than ever before now, but looking back, I realize what a bad decision it was.

I blame it on the bottle of vodka Michael had that night, some of which she’d poured into my root beer — I’m a lightweight, and it only takes about a quarter of a bottle to get me drunk. We were in Michael’s room, playing Never Have I Ever, and suddenly, I said, “Never have I ever kissed my best friend.” I was shocked as Michael took a swig, but assumed this swig must be for a drunken kiss with Calum, before she leapt across the room and pressed her mouth to mine. I’d never considered being bisexual — I’d always been attracted to boys, and boys only — but there was definitely some unresolved sexual tension between myself and Michael. We never pulled apart after that kiss, and I ended the night next to her in bed, having just finished the first positive sexual experience of my life.

I began to use hook-ups with Michael as a way to cope. Any time Alex upset me with something he did, I’d go over to Michael’s and have a little fun. Alex never caught on, though he did rag on Michael all the time. Funnily enough, Alex and I actually broke up because of Calum, not Michael.

After breaking down in Michael’s arms that November day, Calum and I had begun to repair our friendship, damaged by my distrust of men that Alex had planted in me. In an effort to get close again, Calum and I started to go to a local diner every Saturday morning for breakfast and a discussion of our week. A week before our anniversary, Alex caught us. Apparently his beefy friends, Cameron and Sean, had been helping him stalk me, as Alex had grown suspicious of my “weekend activities,” as he’d put it. Furious that I was having breakfast with one of my closest friends, Alex cursed me out in front of two very shocked waitresses, and dragged me out of the diner, forcing me down on my knees as soon as we got into his car.

That was my breaking point. I knew I could not tolerate being treated as an object any longer. After sending a long apology text to Calum, I headed over to Michael’s for one last hook-up and a long brain-storming session of ways to break up with Alex. I broke up with him on our anniversary — something I’d sworn I’d never do to my significant other, but then again, Alex didn’t seem like my significant other. To me, Alex was more of an enemy.

I ended it over the phone, because I was too scared to do it in person. The next day at school was hell. Alex’s friends threw taunt after taunt my way, and the brief popularity I’d gained from becoming Alex Parker’s girlfriend plummeted. I was an outcast again, a nobody to ignore and look down upon, and for a while, I was okay with that. I didn’t mind being forgotten if it meant that Alex would forget about running his dirty hands all over me. But a month after our breakup, Alex came to me and said he’d forgiven me, claiming he would take me back if I just admitted what I’d done wrong. The official story around Norwest was that Alex had broken up with me after worrying I’d cheated on him with Calum. I wasn’t going to deny or confirm that story, as I didn’t want Alex to become even angrier with me. Now it was clear to me that this wasn’t a story to Alex — he _believed_ that he’d broken up with me. In some way, his sick, demented mind had twisted me breaking up with him into him leaving me.

I rejected him. The taunts got worse for a while, then died down. Alex asked me again. I rejected him. The taunts worsened, then died down. It became a constant cycle, until finally, Alex gave up and found someone else to give him free sex — maybe someone who actually _wanted_ to have sex with him. As for me, I became deathly afraid of sex. Despite Michael’s positive influence on some of my sexual experiences, I viewed sex as a negative thing, a chore that has to be done if you want to keep your partner. I still view it like that. I’m scared of it, and I don’t understand how anyone can enjoy it.

Those times with Michael were good, but they ended a week before I broke up with Alex, and they won’t be starting up again. We know we’ll never be more than best friends; we just don’t want the same things in a partner, and that’s fine with us. I think sometimes she blames herself, and maybe she thinks that she’s the reason I’m so scared of sex. But I’ve told her time and time again that it’s not her fault. Michael is not the reason why I sometimes still flinch when Calum hugs me, why I can’t look strangers in the eyes, why I refuse to let any other man into my life that wasn’t there before Alex. But I guess the people we care about always blame themselves when they can’t fix us.

Anyway, hi there. My name is Luke Hemmings, I’m seventeen, and I’m currently kind of broken. Still up for a read?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of posting all my chapters at once, but I haven't finished the story yet so my updates will probably slow down. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Self-harm.

Two

_Got a secret_

_Can you keep it?_

_-Secrets_

Over the years, I’ve discovered that I really, really hate Monday mornings. Maybe it’s the 5AM alarm I have to set in order to get to school on time, perhaps it’s the rude teachers I’ll inevitably have to deal with, it could be the constant beeping of Michael’s car horn as she yells at me to “hurry the fuck up.” But I suppose that doesn’t make me different from any other average Australian teenager.

 

The opening chords of “American Idiot” pull me from my sleep this particular Monday morning. I sing it as I shower, blow-dry and straighten my hair, and brush my teeth. When I wash my face, nothing particularly interesting stares back at me in the mirror. Michael always says that I’m the epitome of the average Australian girl — dirty blond hair, blue eyes. I’m unusually pale for an Australian, something I attribute to hours of video games with Michael and not enough time at the beach, and I suffer from chronic acne, which Alex’s friends love to tease me about. I pack on pounds of concealer to cover it, and lately I’ve gotten so good at it that I think Alex’s cronies have forgotten it’s there, which is a point for me in my book. They’ll still find something to tease me about, though — probably my height, which is freakishly tall for a girl my age. I’m 6’2”, and as a seventeen-year-old female, my doctors certainly view me as an anomaly. I’m like one of those exotic Amazons, minus all the exotic and with a dash of awkward. It’s not like I have gorgeous curves to balance out this height, though. I’m ridiculously skinny, as my doctor says I was “blessed” with a fast metabolism, and I was forced to go on a medical diet about a year ago to help me gain some weight. Basically, I’m your average, gangly, pimply, awkward teenager. 

 

The only thing that really sets me apart from other people is my lip ring. It’s black and located on the left side of my lower lip. Michael took me to get it for my seventeenth birthday; sometimes I think it was her way of showing my parents that she does have a bit of a rebellious influence on me. My parents were pissed off and tried to make me take it out, but I convinced them that it wouldn’t ruin my future and I could always replace it with a clear placebo stud once the piercing healed. I like my lip ring; it reminds me of Michael and the good times I’ve had with her, and makes me think of our plans for the future — a tiny apartment in America, waitressing by day and songwriting by night. 

 

Michael and I took a vow when we were twelve; we swore we’d get out of Sydney, and leave Australia for someplace better. We decided on America as our “someplace,” and when we met Calum at thirteen, we included him in our plans, too. We’ll all share an apartment together, write songs when we’re not working and try to promote ourselves to record labels. Michael and I are aware that it would be a hard life at first, and we’d probably just barely scrape by. But we’re willing to risk all that if it means we have a chance at leaving Sydney permanently, and becoming successful artists. Each of us has something we like to do that we reckon we could sell independently — I’m a decent guitarist, Michael loves to sing, and Calum is a double threat, a killer bassist and guitarist. Calum is the most likely to get signed out of the three of us, as he’s got the good looks, charisma, and double the skills. Calum just has the kind of personality that most record execs would drool over. As for Michael and I, well, we’ll make do. Our joke is that Calum can head the world tours, and we’ll do backup vocals and instruments for him. No matter how it ends up, that vow has kept us going for five years, and it’s one of a few reasons why I bother to even get up in the mornings.

 

After I do my makeup (pounds of concealer, a dash of natural eyeshadow, mascara, clear lip balm), I look at the clock and realize I’m already on the verge of being late. I throw on my usual ensemble (band tee, ripped black skinny jeans, black hightop sneakers, bracelets) and grab my backpack, heading into the kitchen. Mum’s still asleep, as she gets up at seven for her job teaching elementary maths, and my dad’s already at work, probably preparing for another business trip to New Zealand. This house is a lot quieter now that my brothers are gone; Ben was the first to leave for university, then Jack. After my brothers’ departures, my father kind of detached from the family. He worked longer hours, took more business trips, was almost never home for dinner. Now we barely see him, though maybe that’s for the better, as whenever he’s around, Dad and I seem to argue quite a lot. 

 

I peek out the window and see that Michael’s pulled up in her car, a rust-colored Ford sedan that’s taken so many beatings, I’m not sure how it’s still around. I rush over to the cupboard and grab a Poptart; pretty soon, Michael’s honks will be audible in New York. I sling my backpack over one shoulder and walk out the door, making sure to refill my dog, Molly’s, bowl as I head out. Michael’s already lost her patience, an exasperated expression clear on her features as I approach the car.

 

“C’mon, Luke, hurry the fuck up or we’re gonna be late!” she complains, reaching over to open the car door and gesture anxiously at me. I walk around the back of the car and slide into the passenger’s seat, buckling up and barely getting the door closed before Michael speeds off. 

“What’s the hurry today, Mikey?” I tease. “Forgot to do the maths homework or something?” Michael rolls her eyes.

 

“ _Actually_ , there is a _very_ cute guy in my first block that I would like to invite to that concert on Saturday,” she huffs, “and _maybe_ I need a few extra minutes in the bathroom to fix my hair before class!” I glance over at Michael’s hair, which is, admittedly, a bit of a mess today. It seems she’s dyed it again, this time a subtle caramel color with blonde streaks. Michael’s a pretty girl, far prettier than me; her vibrant green eyes are the first thing anyone notices about her, despite her kooky hair colors, as the brilliant jade hue contrasts sharply with the pale alabaster of her skin. Michael is super fucking pale for an Australian, probably because she spends most of her time indoors, singing, playing guitar, or messing around on a video game console, and her skin is pretty close to the color of milk — not that it’s harming her reputation with the guys, as most of them seem to be into it. It _is_ a pretty exotic feature for an Aussie. Those unique features, combined with her ridiculous body (flat stomach with curves in _all_ the right places), make Mikey a huge hit with pretty much any boy she meets. Lately I’ve been wondering if even Calum is into her, as he’s been checking her out a lot when she’s not looking (he knows she’d sucker punch him if he ever snuck a peek of that infamous chest). 

 

“Mikey, your hair’s fine. Just run a brush through it, smooth it down with some mousse and you’ll be good to go,” I say. Michael just shrugs, already prepared for a long venting session about how absolutely _infuriating_ her hair is, and I don’t stop her as she launches into her rant. I don’t have it in me to pretend to listen today, so I just stare out the window, watching the familiar cookiecutter houses and convenience stores rush by in a blur. Suddenly, the brakes screech as Mikey hits a red light.

 

“Sorry,” she apologizes breathlessly, blowing her bangs out of her face. “Thought I was gonna make it.” Michael pauses, staring at the stoplight, before turning to me, suddenly looking serious. “You’re awfully quiet today. Did you do it again?” When I don’t answer, Michael grabs my wrist roughly, making me wince. “ _Answer_ me, Luke!” 

 

“The light’s gone green,” I point out, and Michael curses in frustration as she lets go of my wrist and slams on the accelerator, the clock on the dashboard blinking 7:10. School starts at 7:20; if we don’t make this ten-minute drive in five minutes, Michael’s chances of fixing her hair are fucked. 

 

Focused on making it to school as early as possible, Michael drops the previous conversation, speeding to school the whole way there. I’m amazed she doesn’t get arrested, as she’s only got her provisional license. We pull up to the school at 7:16, and Michael rushes me out of the car, not even bothering to lock it as we run into the school building. Michael and I exchange quick goodbyes as we hurry to opposite sides of the building — me to English class, and Michael to the girls’ bathroom by the cafeteria. 

 

When I arrive at English, it’s 7:18 — I have just enough time to run to the bathroom. I drop my stuff at a desk by the window, and dash to the bathroom. No one’s in there now, it being so close to the start of class — the smokers will have moved to the courtyard, and the skippers will be scattered, as the first place security looks for absent people is the bathroom. I check the stalls — all empty — before ripping off the bracelets on my right wrist, the one Michael grabbed. My wrist could spark horror in Mary Shelley; it’s littered with horizontal lines, some white and tough, some pink and healing, many red and sore. A few of these red lines have been torn open again, and blood runs down my arm in thick rivulets, rubbed raw by Michael’s rough jerking of my bracelets. I grab a paper towel and press it to my bleeding wrist.

 

Everyone has their own, dirty little secret. This is mine.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda posting all my chapters at once, but I haven't finished the story yet, so my updates will likely slow. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Trigger Warning: LOTS of talk about self-harm.

Three

_And you might say it’s self-indulgent_

_And you might say it’s self-destructive_

_But, you see, it’s more productive_

_Than if I were to be happy_

_-Bad Habit_

It started during the spring of Year 9. I was fifteen and in desperate need of an intervention that no one would give me. I had low self-esteem thanks to years of bullying in elementary and middle school, but I didn’t know how to deal with it properly, so I took it out on myself. First it was a safety pin, then the remains of a dismantled pencil sharpener, and finally a razor blade. I was so proud of myself the day I stole my father’s Gillette refill cartridge and gutted it, using a pair of tweezers to pick out the gleaming pieces of metal that would redefine my life for the next three months. I felt like I could finally do something right, even if it wasn’t useful to anyone but myself. I hated myself ninety percent of the time, but during that other glorious ten percent, when I found release in the bright red rivers running down my arms, I felt like I could conquer the world. 

 

That was the dangerous part, what furthered the addiction — the high. Cleaning up the wounds, bandaging them, hiding them from others isn’t fun, but you learn to crave that high just like you’d crave food and water. It could be compared to Michael’s addiction to dying her hair —  there’s something about seeing the result of your efforts, all that hard work you’ve put into making that blood well up or getting your hair the perfect shade of crimson, that makes you want to do it again, over and over until you get sick of it, which you won’t, not if it’d be good for you. That’s how you get bad so easily, how you get from one cut to ten cuts to twenty cuts to fifty. And they don’t just stay the shallow little scratches you started with — they get deeper. I’ve learned to control myself, not to hit fat or muscle so I don’t end up in the hospital, but for many people, it’s hard not to go deeper when you see how much you can do with just one drag of a blade. You begin to appreciate this self-destruction, because by now you’ve realized you can’t create anything good with what you’ve been given, but maybe you can destroy. 

 

I stopped when I met Alex, because who doesn’t feel a little better about themselves when the most popular guy in school wants to date you? Besides, I needed to hide the scars, not add more — Alex would instantly declare me a freak if he saw my cuts. They’d faded by the time we started having sex, but as soon as we broke up, I started again. Breaking up with Alex was a huge hit for me, like a confirmation that I really wasn’t good enough for anyone. I got worse and worse, and my friends discovered my nasty little habit in April, when my sleeve rode up during a particularly intense round of Guitar Hero with Michael. Calum didn’t know at first, but after Michael sat me down for a long talk and things turned nasty, I went to him for advice, and that was how Calum knew. My parents and brothers were blissfully ignorant until August, when I accidentally went too deep and was hospitalized for a week. My father didn’t quite know how to react to a broken daughter, so he stayed distant from the scene of the disaster, though I knew on the inside he wished he could exchange this destroyed prototype of a human for a normal, healthy child. My mother cried when she thought I wasn’t looking, while my brothers were overprotective as usual, sleeping in my hospital room when my parents had to go home to recharge. Jack was the best — as the middle child, he knew how it was to feel overlooked, which was how I felt. It seemed that my parents weren’t focusing on me and how I was, but more on hiding the razor blades and pretending that nothing had ever happened. 

 

When I was released from the hospital, I was assigned a therapist named Marcia, whom I immediately hated. She was fake, with a disposition far too sunny for someone giving therapy to broken children. She also had an unfortunate nasally voice that haunted my dreams for weeks after my first visit. After the first few months, my parents let my weekly therapy visits slip to twice a month, and Marcia isn’t a huge problem for me anymore. Lying to her has become easy when she’s realized that I’m too far gone to worry about. I wasn’t far gone in the beginning — after I was released from the hospital, I was clean for a month, but then school and Alex’s nasty taunts started again, and I couldn’t resist any longer. I tried to hold back, I really did, but when your life is spinning out of your grasp and control is just a blade away… well, it’s not much of a choice. I’ve been on and off since, mostly “on” lately. Michael and Calum are aware of my relapses, but my family remains blissfully clueless, and I’d prefer for it to stay that way. I want my father to think his broken child is at least somewhat patched up.

 

I check the towel pressed onto my wrist, and find that the bleeding has stopped. Sighing in relief, I pile my bracelets back on and head to class, already late. Thankfully, my English teacher doesn’t seem to notice when I slip into class at 7:25, too distracted by her overeager analysis of _The Scarlet Letter_. I spend the rest of the period staring out the window, unamused by the hushed giggles of Sydney Jones behind me. 

 

When the bell rings, I try to walk as slowly as possible to second block, wanting to avoid the tough conversation I’m inevitably going to have with Michael. By now, she’ll have remembered the conversation we were having in the car, and she’ll surely want to pepper me with questions about the subject. The only chance I have at being saved from said conversation is if the boy from first block responded positively to Michael’s flirting — for my sake, I can only hope he did. 

 

I arrive at second block at 8:49, one minute before the bell. Trying to be discreet, I walk quietly to my desk next to Michael — she’s already there, writing something down on a piece of notebook paper. I set my backpack down, cringing when my keychain jingles loudly. Looking up from her paper, Michael smiles, her way of saying hello, before she starts to talk.

 

“So, Jerry said no,” Michael says with a frown, “but on the bright side, it’s not because I’m unattractive, it’s because he has a girlfriend. So I guess that’s a plus.” I pull out my binder and set it on my desk, and Michael glances at my wrist with a frown, but doesn’t say anything. “Anyway,” she continues, “the concert’s still on, and I expect you to be there Saturday night.” 

 

“Michael,” I plead, “you know how I hate concerts. They’re too loud, and there’s always so many people.” Michael rolls her eyes, having seen through my pathetic excuse before I even finished with it.

 

“Luke, you and I both know that’s bullshit,” she retorts. “You love concerts, and anyway, it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t, because this one’s going to be pretty low-key. It’s at a 21-and-overs club, so no one’s going to be screaming ridiculous shit like people our age do.” 

 

“If it’s for 21-and-overs, then how are we supposed to get in?” I point out.

 

Michael grins widely. “Remember how I told you we have the best fake IDs in Sydney? That’s still true.” 

 

I drop my voice to a whisper as the teacher starts the lesson up front. “Michael, c’mon,” I hiss. “You know I’m always up for a beer at home, but sneaking into a club? That’s a little adventurous even for me.” 

 

“You’re going, Luke,” Michael insists, “whether you want to or not.” She looks at my wrist again, then stares at me, batting her eyelashes and sticking her lip out a little. “C’mon, do it for me?” 

 

Michael knows that face always gets me. “Fine,” I relent, “but the moment you can’t walk properly, we’re going home.” 

 

Michael’s smile could light up a thousand cities. “It’s a deal,” she says. 

 

∞

After a stressful day of exam preparations and study guides, I’m ready to just collapse onto my bed when I get home. Actually, what I’d really like to do is cut — my wrist has been itching for days now, and I’m extremely tempted to break my week-long clean streak. I’m searching in my room for the book that hides my razor collection when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. Slipping it out of my pocket, I see it’s a text from Michael, and frown when I read it. _I’ll pick u up 4 the concert at 8 saturday nite. Concert’s @ 9, should b home by 12 but u can stay @ my place. Calum’s DD._ DD stands for Designated Driver, a phrase we’ll never use around our parents in case they catch on to our scandalous underage drinking. I frown, dreading the concert, and am about to put my phone away when I get another text. _Pick out somethin cute. Lots of cute guys & u should wear a dress or crop top & shorts. NO BRACELETS!!!!_ I sigh, knowing that’s Michael code for “no cutting.” I look down at the book containing my razors, and slide it back onto the bookshelf. I’ll have to wait until after the concert to find my release. That’s five more days. God only knows if I’ll make it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> luke meets ashton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! My updates will slow, I'm posting all the chapters I have written, but I am still writing the story. 
> 
> Thanks to my lovely co-owner T for helping me with the smut scene! (I'm still learning.)
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Talk of Self-harm, Smut, Bullying

Four

_I am not a pretty girl_

_That is not what I do_

_I ain’t no damsel in distress_

_And I don’t need to be rescued_

_-Not a Pretty Girl_

The week passes by quicker than I’d like, and before I know it, it’s Saturday morning, the day of the concert. Things are already going wrong — instead of the alarm I set for 10AM, “American Idiot” is blasting me awake at 7AM. However, when I open my eyes, it’s not the bright Australian sun in my line of vision, but a rogue Michael Clifford, using her iPhone to play “American Idiot.” 

 

“Mikey, you bitch,” I complain, “you know that’s the song I use for my alarm! This isn’t a funny joke, I’m going back to bed, I’ll see you tonight.” 

 

Michael shakes her head and kicks the music up a notch. “We gotta go shopping, Luke!” she says urgently. 

 

“What? No, Michael, it’s too early for this,” I groan, pulling the covers back over my head. “Get Calum to take you or something.” I hear Michael’s laughter as she pulls back the covers, a hand on her hip.

 

“Are you kidding me?” she giggles. “I need help choosing a dress, and I doubt Cal would be able to do anything other than salivate.” This is true, but it’s still way too fucking early to go dress shopping. I’m about to tell her to come back at 10, but then Michael flashes me her world-famous puppy face, complete with the watery eyes, pouting lips and batting eyelashes, and I’m dead. Michael knows I’ll feel guilty for the rest of my life if I don’t go with her now. 

 

“Fine,” I mutter, kicking the covers off, “but at least let me get dressed.” 

 

“You have ten minutes!” Michael calls happily as she skips into the living room. 

 

Fuck. 

 

∞

Michael ends up taking me to Sydney’s most provocative dress store, Designs 4 Dance (God help whoever thought that was a good name). A hemline below 3 inches is considered “long” here, and you won’t find a lot of long dresses at Designs 4 Dance. Michael immediately gravitates to the shortest, tightest dresses, and I opt to stand in the corner as I watch her flip through the racks of sequins, latex and polyester. 

 

Michael selects a few favorites, and drags me to the dressing room with her. I awkwardly arrange myself on the bench and watch as Mikey slips on her first choice, a gold, sequined nightmare that would actually look okay if it was a few inches longer. “What do you think?” Mikey asks. 

 

I shrug. “I’d like it better if it was a little longer with a higher neckline,” I reply truthfully, and Michael rolls her eyes.

 

“C’mon, Lukey, don’t be so uptight,” she complains. “It’s a club, not a convent. Guys are not going to be interested if you’re wearing your longest, loosest dress. You gotta live a little.” Michael suddenly perks up, and slips off the dress, handing it to me. “Hey, why don’t you try on a few?” 

 

I shake my head furiously, putting the dress back on its hanger and placing it on a hook. “Uh, no, Michael. You know how I feel about clubbing apparel,” I say. Michael just snorts and wiggles into an emerald green dress. 

 

“Ooh, I kinda like this one,” she says, admiring herself in the mirror. “What do you think, Lukey? It’s a little small, I might put it back.” Michael turns and looks at me, and my jaw drops. That dress is definitely gorgeous. It hugs Michael’s curves beautifully, her cleavage shown off proactively in a way that reads, “HELLO, LOOK AT ME!” The color pops against her pale skin and caramel hair, and her legs seem to go on forever. This dress definitely brings back memories… memories I’d rather not relive, but are playing in my head anyway.

 

_I moaned as Michael’s lips made their way down my neck, leaving stinging bites that I knew would bruise. People would judge, but it felt so good, who gave a fuck? I didn’t. Her hair tickling my breasts, Michael nipped and licked her way down my chest, heading further and further south. I moaned, my head banging against the headboard of her bed. Suddenly, she stopped and looked up at me questioningly._

 

_“Are you sure this is alright? I know it’s your first time with a girl and all…” Michael trailed off, biting her lip. I shivered, feeling the shadow of those talented lips on my chest and neck and oohh, everywhere good. Meeting her gaze, I smiled slowly, tonguing my lip ring in a way I knew drove her crazy, and nodded once, looking her deep in those endless green eyes._

 

_Michael smiled wickedly, and I restrained a moan as she ran her hand up my inner thigh. Winking once, she turned her focus to the area that had been screaming for her attention for hours now. After that, there was only sensation. Her tongue, her lips, her fingers… everywhere, touching, licking, nipping, pulling moans and mews and cries from my mouth, which hung slack. I didn’t just want her everywhere, I_ needed _her. And here I was, feeling like this in my best friend’s bed, being pleasured in a way that I didn’t even think was possible. So much better than anything Alex had done for me… better than anything I’d_ ever had _. My hips bucked as her tongue raked over my clit. I wasn’t sure if the cry that followed was mine or hers. My body seized, and I called out Michael’s name as I gave in to the best orgasm of my life._

 

_There was nothing to compare to it, lying there in my best lace bra on such a familiar bed. Sated and sleepy, I looked down at Michael, who was perched comfortably between my thighs. Wearing a smug little smile, she looked up at me and said, “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it, Lukey?”_

 

The picture burns in my brain, my face flushing at the dirty memory. Remembering the first time your best friend gave you oral sex is not the best thing that could happen when said best friend is trying on clubbing outfits a few feet away from you. When Michael walks off to get a smaller size in her favorite dress — it’s pretty, a short, tight slip of a thing that’s black as Calum’s hair — I slip out of the store and into the crowded mall. I won’t leave Michael for too long — just long enough to get some fresh air and clear my head. 

 

The mall is busy already, not a surprise for 10AM on a Saturday. Of course Michael chose the most popular mall in Sydney, the one all the “cool kids” frequent when the caffeine running through their veins is the only thing keeping their hangover at bay and they need a new outfit for their next party. It’s pretty pathetic, their constant cycle of partying, but I guess everyone has their own fix. I sure as hell have mine. I shiver, the air conditioning a little too high, and wonder if I can get a coffee somewhere. If I’m lucky, I might have time to slip into Starbucks (despite how mortifying that prospect is) before Michael notices I’m gone. 

 

I decide that I’ll probably have time, as I’ve only been gone a minute, and hurry into Starbucks. When I see who’s in line in front of me, I immediately wish I hadn’t, the familiar flash of auburn hair chilling my bones more than the AC. I turn to make a quiet escape, but I can’t escape notice. I’m unlucky enough to bump into him with my shoulder — him being Cameron Martin, one of Alex’s best friends. 

 

I mutter a hurried apology and try to sneak past, but Cameron isn’t having it, already recognizing the black skinny jeans no other girl at Norwest wears. “Well, well,” he laughs, a cruel smirk distorting his handsome features, “look who we have here. The little freak — well, maybe not so little.” Cameron has his arm slung across my shoulders, a seemingly friendly gesture that I can’t wiggle out of. I look back at the line, hoping someone will help me, but the line’s dissipated, leaving Alex at the front and everyone else seated with their drinks. 

 

“Hey, Alex!” Cameron calls. “Got you a present, mate!” Forgetting his drink, Alex turns, grinning at the sight before him. 

 

“Thanks, man,” Alex laughs, walking towards us. “It isn’t even Christmas and you’re already getting me gifts!” 

 

“Well, this is the kind of gift you don’t see around here too often,” Cameron says smugly, passing me off to Alex with a rough shove. I stumble into Alex’s waiting arms, struggling to get away as he turns my face towards his. 

 

“What are you doing here, Lukey?” Alex coos, running a thumb over my lip ring. “Buying a Christmas present for that lesbo girlfriend of yours?” I spit in his face, and Alex lets out an angry cry. The move doesn’t work as I’d hoped it would, only serving to make Alex tighten his hold on me. 

 

“You little bitch,” Alex hisses, digging his fingers into my throat. I cringe in pain as I feel another healed cut reopen. “You’re just jealous because you can’t have me anymore, aren’t you? You miss being my little slut, don’t you?” Alex grins. His fingers are now choking me, so I can’t talk, can’t spit a nasty retort at him, can barely even breathe. “You’re just mad I found you out. But someone’s bound to find out when you’re opening your legs for every boy this side of Australia.” I think I’m beginning to turn purple, and my lungs ache for air. I close my eyes and accept defeat, let Alex hurl his nasty words at me, when there’s a sudden shout, and Alex releases his death grip. 

 

“Hey! Fuck off, mate, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” someone yells. I open my eyes as I splutter for air, coughing violently. Looking to find my savior, I see a beautiful blond boy approaching us, hazel eyes burning with the kind of fire I’ve only ever seen in Michael. 

 

“This is none of your business, man,” Alex snaps at the stranger. “You don’t know us, so don’t get involved.” 

 

“How about _you_ don’t choke innocent girls!” the boy shouts back. Alex and Cameron are getting nervous, as the customers in the Starbucks are beginning to look up and talk amongst themselves. 

 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, mate,” Cameron murmurs, marching over to Alex and dragging him out of Starbucks. 

 

“This won’t be the last you’ll see from me, bitch!” Alex promises as he and Cameron leave, flipping off the boy who intervened. I cough one last time and take a deep breath, feeling my phone buzz with what is surely a worried text from Michael. The boy rushes over, kneeling by me and rubbing my back soothingly. 

 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he reassures me. “They’ve left now, they’re not gonna hurt you.” I glance at the boy next to me, the only person in this whole fucking store who even bothered to help me. He’s ridiculously attractive, with bouncing, dirty-blonde curls, kind hazel eyes and the biggest dimples I’ve seen on a person.

 

“Thanks,” I say hoarsely as I stand up, the hazel-eyed stranger doing the same. He’s wearing a Nirvana tee — the same shirt I have. 

 

“No problem,” the boy nods. “You look like you needed a little help. My name’s Ashton.” 

 

“Well, thanks for the help, _Ashton_ ,” I respond, turning to leave, “but I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need help and I can take care of myself perfectly fine.” 

 

“Wait, don’t leave!” Ashton calls out, jogging to catch up with me. “You might need to get checked out, you’re going to have a nasty bruise…” 

 

“Like I said, I don’t need to be taken care of by anyone but myself,” I say smoothly.  _I deserved it_ , I think to myself. _You’re weak and you deserved it. The fact that a_ stranger _had to intervene just proves that you deserved it. You’re so weak, Luke, too fucking fragile._  

 

“Well, if you won’t let me take you to get checked out, then please just text me and let me know you’re okay?” Ashton pleads, taking out his crumpled receipt and scribbling something on it with a pen. I sigh and take the paper, stuffing it into the pocket of my jeans. I start to walk to the dress shop, but Ashton walks next to me for a few moments, clearly not done with his spiel.

 

“By the way,” Ashton continues, “I never said you were a damsel in distress. I’m sure you’re an independent woman, you look like you can take care of yourself, but it just seemed like you needed a little bit of help, okay? I’m sorry if I offended you.”

 

“Apology accepted,” I say. “Now I really need to be somewhere. Goodbye, Ashton.” 

 

“Text me!” Ashton calls as he jogs back to the Starbucks. As soon as he’s disappeared from view, I take out the paper and crumple it in my hand, tossing it into the nearest bin. 

 

Like I said, I’m not a damsel in distress. If I can’t take care of myself, then I don’t deserve to be here anyways. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a pretty short chapter. thank you for reading!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Talk of self-harm

Five

_Even the stars refuse to shine_

_-Collide_

After that disaster, I get back to see that Michael’s already purchased her dress, and she drops me back at my house when she realizes I won’t talk about what happened. I answer a few bland questions from my mother about how my shopping trip went, and crawl into bed, already exhausted from the day’s events. Before I know it, it’s 6PM, and my mother is shaking me awake.

 

“Luke, Luke, darling,” my mother says gently, “it’s time to get up, Michael will be here soon.” I nod and get out of bed, rolling my eyes when I see a million texts from Michael asking if I’m up. Once my mother’s left, I run a brush through my hair, swig some mouthwash, and pick out the first outfit my mind can put together, a black and white flannel with my trusty ripped black skinnies and some grey low top Converse. I’ve barely finished getting ready when the doorbell rings and Michael storms into my bedroom a few moments later.

 

As soon as she sees me, Michael lets out a shriek of horror. “Luke! What in the _hell_ are you wearing?” she demands. 

 

I shrug. “My usual,” I reply. When Michael just stares at me, jaw on the floor, I add, “It’s not like you expected me to wear something sexy, did you?” 

 

Michael lets out a loud groan and throws open my closet doors, muttering to herself. “Goddammit, I’m always the one who has to dress you properly…. Gotta find you some tighter jeans, those are ridiculously loose… Ah, here we go.” Michael grabs a pair of jeans — my tightest, most destroyed black skinnies, jeans I haven’t worn since probably Year 9 — and, beaming triumphantly, hands them to me. I just hold them, waiting for Michael to leave the room so I can change. 

 

“Well, go on,” Michael says impatiently. I sigh, realizing I’ll have to change in front of her, which is something I’m not particularly comfortable with at the moment, seeing as my thighs are a canvas of scars. They’re a cemetery of broken promises that I know will kill Michael on the inside. 

 

But Michael’s not going to move an inch, so I slip off my jeans and hastily wiggle into the new ones — unfortunately, not fast enough to prevent Michael from seeing anything, and she lets out a shocked gasp. “Lukey, babe,” Michael whispers, but I wave it off.

 

“It’s in the past, Michael,” I say through gritted teeth. I stand up, finishing buttoning the jeans. “Are you happy now?” 

 

Michael gives my outfit a quick once-over, tapping a finger to her lips. “There’s something missing…” A lightbulb goes off in Michael’s head, and she rushes to my side, unbuttoning the top two buttons on my flannel to show off the tank top underneath, and rolling up my flannel sleeves, grimacing at the scars. I reach for some bracelets, but Michael stops me. “No bracelets today,” Michael insists. “It’ll be dark in the club and no one will see, I promise. Be proud of who you are and what you’ve been through, okay, babe?” 

 

“Just let me stack on a few,” I plead, and Michael sighs, giving in. I grab a few bracelets, enough to cover the worst scars, but not enough for my liking, and shove them on as Michael goes into the bathroom, searching for something.

 

“Do you have a curling iron?” Michael calls out.

 

“Yes,” I shout back, “but I never use it.” 

 

“Well, consider yourself about to lose your curling iron virginity,” Michael grins, emerging from the bathroom. The curling iron is gripped in her hand tightly, the other hand wielding a brush like a sword. I try to resist, but Michael forces me to sit down on the bed as she brushes through my hair and curls the ends. After she sets the curls with some of my mother’s hairspray, she gives me a look in the mirror, and I have to admit, it’s turned out pretty nice. 

 

“What about makeup?” Michael asks. I tell her I already have enough concealer on to last me a lifetime. Michael insists that’s not enough, and puts on some bronze eyeshadow that she claims will “make your eyes pop,” and applies more mascara than I feel is necessary. After adding a dab of lip gloss and blush, Michael finally appears satisfied. 

 

“You look stunningly beautiful, Luke,” Michael breathes out, grinning at my reflection in the mirror. “Not that you aren’t already,” she adds, setting the mirror on the bed, “I just helped that beauty shine through.” I laugh at her words, surprisingly deep for a party-ready Michael on a Saturday, and allow her to escort me to the car. I have to admit, Michael can work magic on a girl — I’m actually feeling a little confident in myself tonight. 

 

Calum’s waiting for us in the car — he is definitely the designated driver tonight. Michael loves concerts, and she always gets completely trashed at them, which is why I’ll need to watch her tonight. It’ll be hard enough to prevent Calum from taking home any girls, but keeping Michael sober is an even more daunting challenge. She’s definitely a party girl, my Mikey. 

 

“Hey there, Lukey,” Calum grins, using the mirror to fix his already perfectly-coiffed quiff. “Ready for a good time?” 

 

I shrug, climbing into the backseat and buckling up — Calum’s a bit of a wild driver when he’s excited for something. “I think it’ll be more of a good time for you two, and a night of babysitting for me,” I tease. 

 

“Aw, Lukey, don’t be a spoilsport,” Michael says. “You’re going to let loose a little, too.” I ignore her comment and tell Calum we’d better leave now if we want to be on time — it’s already seven, and the concert starts at eight. Calum zooms off, almost as dangerous a driver tonight as Mikey. 

 

“So, who exactly are we seeing tonight?” I ask. Calum chuckles, looking at Mikey in surprise.

 

“You didn’t tell her, Mikey? Lazy,” Calum laughs. He brakes as we hit a red light. “Anyway, to answer your question, Luke, we’re going to see a band called Swallow the Goldfish. All the members except the lead singer are going to uni, so they’re breaking up. This’ll be their last concert.”

 

“Michael mentioned something about this being a 21-and-overs club,” I persist. “So how the hell are we getting in here, or even the band members, since they’re apparently just heading off to university?” 

 

“The band has connections with the club,” Calum replies smoothly. “And I happen to be friends with the lead singer, so we would get in even if our fake IDs weren’t as completely badass as they are — which we have Michael to thank for.” Michael whoops and high fives Calum. I sigh and settle back into my seat, already accepting that this evening is not going to be a very fun one. 

  

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! this chapter mentions underage drinking, just a warning.

Six

_Your eyes whispered, “Have we met?”_

_-Enchanted_

We get to the club with ten minutes to spare, since Calum and Mikey insisted on stopping at 7-Eleven for a “snack break” before the concert. Since they both haven’t eaten a lick of their findings, I’m guessing they’re saving the food for later, when Mikey will need it to ease her massive hangover — Calum will want to bring her the food he purchased to earn brownie points.

 

Michael and Calum are right about the IDs; although the bouncer eyes me suspiciously, he decides my ID is correct and I do pass for 21, and unclips the rope to let me join Mikey and Calum, already waiting for me on the other side. The bright lights, dark atmosphere and abundance of underage drinking throw me off immediately, but Michael tugs me through the pulsating crowd (bigger than I’d expected) and heads straight for the bar. The bartender doesn’t even ask for an ID as Michael orders two vodka sodas without batting an eye. She passes a drink to me, and I sip, resisting the urge to cough at the disgusting concoction.

 

“What the hell is this, Michael?” I wheeze as she leads me to the front of the crowd, where Calum is waiting, arm slung around a curly-haired boy I assume is the lead singer. 

 

“Hey, guys,” Calum greets, having to shout to be heard over the roar of the crowd. “This is Ashton Irwin, lead singer of Swallow the Goldfish. Ash, these are my best mates, Michael and Luke.” I can only stare in shock as Ashton extends a hand, realizing why those blond curls looked so familiar in the club’s dim lights. This is Ashton, the boy from the mall today… Shit.

 

I smile weakly as I shake Ashton’s hand. “Hey. ’M Luke. Nice to meet you.” 

 

Ashton’s brow furrows, a puzzled expression crossing his features. “Wait, aren’t you the girl I met at the mall earlier? The one who insisted she wasn’t a damsel in distress?” Ashton chuckles at the memory.

 

I nod mutely, while Calum and Michael look at me for an explanation, clearly confused. I ignore their questioning glances as Ashton asks, “Why didn’t you text me?” I shrug, and Ashton smiles. “You threw away my number, didn’t you?” 

 

I’m shocked. This boy has me figured out in about three minutes. Ashton laughs, “Relax. I’m not some Sherlock Holmes, I’m just used to it. Girls always throw out my number, so you wouldn’t be the first, and probably not the last.”

 

Guilt settles heavily in my stomach, as Calum pipes up, “Wow, way to guilt trip a girl, Ash.” Ashton just smiles easily and pats Calum on the back.

 

“Well, mate, I gotta go. Show’s about to start. Catch up with me after,” Ashton says as he walks away, joining some boys by the side of the stage. Calum and Michael tug me to a better viewing spot, but I’m still speechless from my encounter with Ashton. Maybe it’s the way he laughed about everything, or the intense gaze (his eyes are the color of autumn) that seemed to figure me out in a second, but Ashton’s different.

 

But no, different is still bad. He _is_ a boy, after all. A boy who’s only been in my life for less than a day. He can’t be trusted.

 

∞

The concert is amazing, though Ashton clearly stands out from the rest of his bandmates. Not only is he a great singer, but he’s a killer on the drums, showing off on his mate’s drum set for a bit at a fan’s request. It’s clear that the band is splitting up, however, as the tension on stage is palpable, the guitarist throwing dirty looks Ashton’s way when he sings, the drummer rolling his eyes when Ashton goes to play on his set. 

 

Michael drinks three vodka sodas before I tell her it’s time to cut off the alcohol for tonight. She nods and hangs onto my shoulder for support, already stumbling with the effects of the vodka. Michael and I watch as the band takes their bows and exits the stage. “They’re so good,” Michael slurs. “We should do a band, Lukey.” I raise an eyebrow at her idea. It’s actually not a half bad suggestion — with Calum’s bass, Michael’s vocals and my guitar, we could make a pretty decent team — but it’s certainly not something to discuss when Michael’s drunk and Calum’s flirting with a girl in the corner. Speaking of which, I better go get Calum before he takes anyone home.

 

Not wanting to leave Michael alone, I drag her with me to rain on Calum’s parade. Calum’s not drunk, thankfully (God knows if I could deal with two drunken teenagers), but he’s backed into a corner with a girl, flirting like there’s no tomorrow. I tap Calum on the shoulder, and he whirls around, clearly a tad irritated I’ve interrupted his fun. “Cal,” I say gently, “the concert’s over. It’s time to go home — with no plus-ones.” Calum groans in protest, but when I don’t back down, reluctantly parts ways with the girl.

 

Calum’s helping me carry Mikey (she’s a sleepy drunk) to the exit when a familiar curly head jogs up to us. Damn it, it’s Ashton — why did _he_ have to be friends with Calum? “Hey, mate,” Ashton says, clapping a hand on Calum’s back. “Did ya enjoy the show? What’d you think of my drumming?” 

 

I speak up for Calum, who was too busy flirting to actually pay any attention to the show. “It was great, Ashton. Thanks for inviting us, but if you’ll excuse us — our friend here needs to get home,” I say, gesturing to Mikey, who’s currently slumped between my shoulder and Calum’s. 

 

“Oh, of course,” Ashton replies, looking worried when he sees Mikey’s state. He suddenly seems to remember something, and digs a piece of paper out of his back pocket, handing it to me. “If I was so great, maybe I deserve a second shot?” Ashton says tentatively, smiling in a shy way that almost makes my heart melt. _Dammit, Luke, don’t fall for his trap, he’s just going to hurt you like everyone else._ I take the paper anyway, the wide grin on Ashton’s face making it worth the risk. _You’re just doing this to shut him up,_ I remind myself. _You can throw away the paper when you get home._  

 

We say our goodbyes, and Ashton watches from the club’s entrance as Calum and I help Mikey into the car. Calum gets in the driver’s seat, and I climb in next to him, waving goodbye to Ashton, even though my mind screams at me to just leave. _Get away from him_ , my mind says. _Get away and leave, run as fast as you can from this boy, because this beautiful boy will kill you. The most beautiful boys have the ugliest souls._

 

But I don’t listen. I never do — not when it’s good for me.

 

∞

The next morning, I wake up at midday, phone buzzing with countless texts from Mikey, complaining about her “monster hangover.” Talk of Michael’s hangover reminds me of her drunken idea last night — _we should do a band, Lukey_. I call her up, even though I know it’ll kill her to talk on the phone. 

 

“What the fuck do you want, Luke?” Michael grumbles, picking up on the second ring despite her bad mood.

 

“Michael,” I say excitedly, “you make really good suggestions when you’re drunk.” 

 

“What the hell are you talking about, Luke?” Michael groans. I can hear the creak of her bed as she leans back in it. “I’ve never heard you this excited about something, so hurry up and spill before I puke all over my phone.” 

 

“Last night, we were watching the concert, and you said we should start a band,” I remind her. “And you know what, I think that’s a great idea. I mean, we all love music, don’t we? And we’re pretty good at it, too — I mean, Calum’s a killer bassist, and you have a great voice, and I can play the guitar. We could totally do this.” 

 

“Did someone drug your cereal, Luke?” Michael chuckles. “You’re unusually enthusiastic today. But yeah, I do think that’s a pretty good idea. I’ll do lead vocals, Calum be our bassist, you and I will do guitar. Sounds awesome.” 

 

“We just need a drummer,” I murmur, glancing over at the slip of paper on my nightstand. I quickly dismiss the idea from my head — I do _not_ need another source of pain in my life. “We’ll have to find someone.” 

 

“Yeah. Anyway, I gotta go, babe, or I’m gonna blow chunks all over my bed,” Michael warns.

 

“Okay. Bye, Mikey.”

 

“See ya.” 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is ridiculously short.

Seven

_Is this the life you’ve been waiting for?_

_-Ask Yourself_

I float through another miserable Monday, enthused by the idea of a band, a united front that Calum, Michael and I can present to America’s record labels. Maybe things won’t be so hard in the States if we’re working together to have a future, rather than working independently. 

 

After school, I have work — a three-hour shift at a local gas station, with a kind boss and coworkers who barely notice I’m there — which goes by surprisingly quickly, despite the dull nature of the job. After work, I’m due to hang out with Michael, so I bike home and shower. I’m not surprised to find Michael waiting on my bed when I emerge from the shower — she has a key to my place and I have a key to hers.

 

“What’s that smirk on your face about?” I ask as I wriggle into some clothes. 

 

“I got us a drummer,” Michael says pleasantly. I freeze where I am, cold dread settling in my stomach as I realize what Michael has likely done. 

 

“Who?”

 

“The one and only Ashton Irwin,” Michael grins.

 

Though I anticipated this answer, it doesn’t make hearing it any better. “Are you fucking kidding me, Michael?” I hiss. “ _Ashton Irwin_? Out of all the drummers in Sydney, you chose _Ashton Irwin_? How did you even get his _number_ , for fuck’s sake?” 

 

Michael rolls her eyes, pointing to the piece of paper on my nightstand. “He gave you his number. You were in the shower. I took advantage of an opportunity,” she shrugs, unfazed by my enraged shriek.

 

“Michael, you _know_ how I am with guys,” I shout. “You _know_ I don’t let anyone in, especially not people like him! No matter how interested he is in me, it’s never going to happen! They’re all the same, Michael, they are _all_ just like Alex on the inside!” I didn’t realize that I needed to cry, but tears are rolling down my cheeks, enough to fill an ocean. 

 

Michael crosses the room and gathers me into her arms, rubbing my back. “Shh, it’s okay, Lukey,” she whispers, the sobs wracking my body. “Don’t cry, please, I’m sorry.” When my sobs have subsided to sniffling, Michael leads me to my bed, sitting next to me on the edge. 

 

“Look, Luke, I know you’re scared,” Michael begins, shushing me when I try to talk, “and I know that you’ve been hurt. I know you don’t trust people, especially boys, and you know what? That’s fine. I know you need time to recover. But you have to realize that Ashton has no intention of hurting you. We don’t even know if he likes you, okay? For all we know, he was just a stranger doing a good deed, and we happened to run into him at the concert, and now he’s going to be our drummer. If it really makes you uncomfortable, then I can call him and tell him never mind, because I love you, and I don’t ever want you to feel anxious or uncomfortable because of something I’ve done.”

 

My eyes widen, and I’m about to thank Michael, but she’s not done yet. “However, I do think you should give Ashton a chance. We really need a drummer, and he’s _so_ good, Lukey,” Michael pleads. “Because you know what I think?” 

 

“What?” I ask hesitantly.

 

“I think Ashton Irwin can help us get out of here.” 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bolded phrases represent texting. thank you for reading.

Eight

_I was scared as fuck and out of touch_

_-Alleyways_

After Michael’s “motivational speech” (her words, not mine), Michael sets up a video game and I sketch out a tentative schedule for the band, based on the information Michael’s given me. Ashton is nineteen and has graduated, but he’s not going to university, so his schedule is pretty open. Calum, Michael and I have more limited availability, thanks to jobs and school, so we decide on practice from 6PM-9PM. Our first practice is Wednesday, two days after Michael’s decision to include Ashton in the band, so Michael and I spend Tuesday creating a list of songs to try out the next day. 

 

Wednesday sneaks up on me, and if not for Michael’s reminder text this morning, I probably would have forgotten completely about practice — but I made it, and here I am, sitting on Michael’s couch, being lectured by said couch’s owner.

 

“You’ve gotta give Ashton a chance, okay, Luke?” Michael says sternly. She notices me flinch, and Michael’s face softens. “I mean, if you get uncomfortable, please tell me. But I think Ashton’s a good guy, and he could really help this band. I think he’s going to get us to America,” Michael explains.

 

I shrug. “I’ve already agreed to behave, Michael, is the lecture really necessary?” 

 

Michael sighs, wiping sweaty hands on her jeans. “No. I’m sorry, Luke. I’m just nervous,” she whispers, perching next to me on the couch. “I really want this to work, y’know? I don’t want this to be another one of my failed experiments, something I didn’t do right. I want this to _work_. I want us to get to America. I wanna get out of here, Lukey.” 

 

“We will get out of here, Mikey,” I promise. 

 

The doorbell rings, and Michael jumps up from the couch, running to the door like a kid on Christmas morning. “That must be Ashton!” Michael trills as she fumbles with the door latch. Her face falls as Calum steps through the doorway, bass in hand. 

 

“Never mind, it’s just Calum,” Michael says disappointedly as Calum sets his bass, still in its carrying case, down by the couch, kneeling down to open the case. 

 

“Well, that’s always the kind of welcome you want to come home to,” Calum teases. “Nice to see you too, Michael.” 

 

“No, I’m sure she’s overjoyed to see you, Cal,” I say, shooting a dirty look at Michael, “she just thought you were _someone else_.” 

 

The opening strains of “Can a drummer get some” ring out in the air, and I look over at Michael to see her pull out her phone. “That’s the ringtone I have for Ashton,” she says sheepishly, before disappearing to answer the call. Calum starts to tune his bass, while I do the same to my guitar. 

 

A few minutes later, Michael returns, looking a little happier than she did before. “Ashton’s going to be here in five minutes,” she announces. “He’s just a little late because of traffic.” Calum and I shrug simultaneously, and continue to tune our instruments. “Well aren’t you two party-poopers,” Michael grumbles. “Whatever, I need to find a capo.” She heads over to a duffel bag in the corner of the room, full of guitar accessories, with has two guitars propped next to it — an acoustic guitar, and Michael’s preferred electric guitar.

 

Michael’s just finished clipping the capo on her guitar when the doorbell rings. I swear Michael’s about to _squeal_ as she claps her hands together, looking more like an excited little kid than a punk rock guitarist — then again, Michael can swing from “badass rocker” to “bows and ribbons girlie girl” in the span of a minute. 

 

Calum beats Michael to the door, opening it and letting Ashton in. Our new drummer looks frazzled, running his hands through messy hair and apologizing profusely. “Sorry, guys, I _really_ wanted to be early, but I had to get Harry and Lauren straight and the traffic was just so _bad_ …” 

 

“It’s fine,” Michael interrupts. “Calum, Luke, why don’t you give Ashton a hand with his drum set? I’m still working on my guitar.” She gestures to the tuner and guitar in her lap. 

 

“Um, I’m still working on tuning my guitar, too, Mikey—” I start, but Michael doesn’t let me finish.

 

“I can get that for you,” Michael says sweetly, grinning deviously. She’s clearly aware of my intense hatred for her in this moment. “You just help Ashton with his drum set, okay, Lukey?” 

 

Ashton and Calum look incredibly awkward, standing there with slightly scared expressions. They exchange a look, as if to say, _Who’s going to risk their neck first?_ Finally, Ashton speaks up, rubbing his palms together as he talks. “Great, it’s all in the trunk. Luke, you can take the lighter things, Calum, you and I’ll tackle the rest.” 

 

After we’ve all nearly broken our backs lifting Ashton’s drum kit down into Michael’s basement, we’re ready to go. Michael glances at our list of practice songs, and decides on “Teenage Dirtbag” for our first song. She declares that Calum should start off, as she’ll be singing the chorus.

 

“Her name is Noelle, I have a dream about her,” Calum sings. His voice is so unique, unlike any I’ve ever heard. Calum’s voice is one of the reasons Michael and I thought he’d have the best chance at getting signed in America. “She rings my bell, I got gym class in half an hour. Oh how she rocks, in Keds and tube socks… But she doesn’t know who I am, and she doesn’t give a damn about me.” 

 

Michael joins in, our guitars syncing together perfectly, as she belts the chorus. “Cuz I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby, yeah, I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby, listen to Iron Maiden, maybe with me.” Michael’s smirking, thinking the reason my jaw dropped a few moments ago was due to her singing — and well, Michael’s singing is stellar, but Ashton’s drumming is what made my jaw drop. Ashton is _fabulous_ on the drums, even better than what I’d seen at the concert last Saturday. 

 

As we continue with “Teenage Dirtbag,” all I can think is, _Maybe Michael did make a good choice_. 

 

∞

The rest of practice goes well; Ashton gets so into his drumming that I’m surprised he doesn’t break his drumsticks. Calum departs at 8:45 for a date, and when the clock strikes 9, Michael mysteriously disappears for the longest bathroom break in history, leaving me alone with Ashton as he packs up his drums. I sit on the couch in silence, watching as Ashton puts his things away (he’s decided to leave his drums in Michael’s basement, as we’ll be practicing there pretty much every day anyway). 

 

Ashton’s the first to break the silence. “Hey, er, Luke…” I look up from my hands, which I’ve been staring down at for the past ten minutes. Ashton blushes bright pink and doesn’t say anything else.

 

“You’ve got my attention,” I say coolly. I know I’m being a little rude, but it’s best to keep Ashton at a distance when I know I can’t trust him — no matter what Michael wants. I’ll keep it civil, just so he’ll stay in the band, but there’s no reason to indulge Michael’s unnecessary fantasy of a potential relationship between myself and Ashton. 

 

Ashton’s face becomes a vivid shade of red. “Um, yeah, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I made you feel awkward at the concert last Saturday,” he says hesitantly. “I  definitely did not mean to be pushy about giving you my number, and I totally understand if you don’t want to text me — you have no obligation to, and I’m really sorry if I tried to make it seem like you did.” I feel guilty all over again, though I’m sure that wasn’t Ashton’s intention, and simply shrug as Ashton grabs his keys and turns to leave.

 

However, I surprise even myself when I call out, “No worries, Ashton. Goodnight,” as he leaves. 

 

Seconds later, Michael emerges from the bathroom, flopping down onto the couch next to me. “You were kind of rude, Lukey,” she mentions after a few moments. I shrug, and Michael continues, “I know you have a hard time letting people in, Luke. I _know_ what Alex did to you—”

 

“Don’t bring Alex into this, Michael,” I hiss. 

 

Michael sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She pushes her bangs out of her eyes, and turns to face me, taking my hand in hers. “But you know I just want the best for you, Lukey, and I just feel like Ashton would be so good for you. He’s a good guy; he means well, and I can tell. And if you don’t believe me, just ask Calum. He’s known the lad for years.” Michael smiles, becoming more enthusiastic when I don’t protest. “And Luke, he seems _so_ into you. Don’t try to say he’s not, I know you’re totally oblivious with these sort of things, but he definitely thinks you’re cute.” 

 

“ _You_ seem to be oblivious to a certain guy who’s so into _you_ ,” I retort. Ever since we met Calum in Year 7, he’s clearly been crazy about Michael. Michael’s been more into other boys than Calum, however, so by now, Cal’s accepted that he and Michael aren’t going to happen, and adopted his girl-chasing nature in Year 9. That was a rough year for Cal — he caught Michael making out with a boy at a party, after Michael had unintentionally led him on for weeks, and he left the party in tears. 

 

If looks could kill, with the glare Michael’s giving me, I’d be blown to pieces. “You know full and well that Calum and I can never happen, Luke,” Michael reprimands me. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship, and besides, I think he’s moved on — he _did_ have a date tonight.” Even I, the “oblivious” one, can’t miss the brief flash of hurt in Michael’s eyes. Those two certainly have some unresolved issues. 

 

“Sorry,” I apologize. “I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”

 

“It’s fine. I kinda did the same to you,” Michael smiles. “Anyway, I’d better go pick up the pizza — ordered it while I was eavesdropping on you and Ashton.” 

 

“Oh, you bitch!” I laugh, throwing a pillow at Michael as she grabs her keys and slips out to grab the pizza. 

 

“Remember, you’re crashing at _my_ place tonight,” Michael calls over her shoulder, “and if you _really_ want to make it up to me, you’ll text Ashton.” I hear the door upstairs slam shut, and sigh as I’m left alone, the silence unbearable. My phone lies on the coffee table in front of me, a temptation I’m struggling not to partake in. If I text Ashton, it could mean I’m letting in another person who doesn’t deserve my trust — but at the same time, it would make Michael so happy, and it’s not like I’m the one who deserves to be happy anyway. If I don’t text Ashton, I’ll be safe from potential hurt, but Michael will be upset, and it will make things awkward within the band. 

 

It only takes a few minutes before I crack under the pressure. Reaching for my phone, I compose a quick text in my head, throwing out every draft until I finally settle on the perfect message. I enter Ashton’s name in the “To” bar, and write,  ** Hey, I totally didn’t mean to be a jerk tonight — or Saturday night, or at the mall Saturday morning haha. Anyway, I’m really sorry and I don’t think you were pushy at all.  **

 

When Ashton doesn’t respond after five minutes, then ten, and finally fifteen, I smile to myself, relaxing back into the couch as I reason that I’ve paid my dues to Michael, and now I’m free of any debt to anyone. I hear Michael walk in upstairs, and rush to help her with the pizza, grinning at my newfound freedom. “What’s that grin all about?” Michael chuckles. “Ashton say something that made you smile?” 

 

“Actually, quite the opposite,” I grin, carefully navigating the stairs to the basement — with a heavy box of pizza in one hand, a liter of soda in the other, this is more difficult than it sounds. “He didn’t say anything at all. So, consider me free of—” We both freeze as my phone dings with a text, the sound loud and clear even from the basement below.

 

“Eat your words, Luke Hemmings,” Michael cries, doubling over with laughter in front of me. I push past her and set the pizza and soda down on the table, frantically unlocking my phone to see what Ashton’s said. Maybe it’s a “Fuck you I never want to talk to you again,” or “Sorry you’ve got the wrong number mate,” or a— 

 

Damn. It’s none of the above. 

 

** Ashton Irwin **

** 9:30 PM **

** Sorry, I was in the car & I don't look @ my phone when I’m drivin. Apology accepted :) Does this mean I can consider you a friend now? **

 

I let out a long sigh and let Michael read the text. “Damn, he doesn’t even _touch_ the phone while he’s driving!” she laughs, picking up a slice of gooey pizza. “See, Luke, this man is perfect. You’ve got to give him a chance.” 

 

I bite my lip, laying the phone on the table as I arrange myself on the sofa. “Michael, I don’t need another beautiful mistake,” I remind her. “Remember Alex? We _all_ thought he was my perfect man, and look how that went.” 

 

Michael sets down the pizza, face turning serious — a perfect example of the way Michael’s mood can swing from hyper to serious in a matter of seconds. “Luke, sweetie,” Michael begins, “I know you like to think you’re okay. I know you love pretending, and you’ve always been a damn good actress, there’s no denying that. But we’ve been playing this game for years, Luke, this game of you meeting someone and putting your walls up because you’re scared you’re gonna get hurt again. It’s been too long, Luke, and frankly, I’m _exhausted_ — I can’t imagine how tiring it is for you.” 

 

I hug my knees to my chest, failing to formulate a sarcastic response to that emotional punch to the gut. It’s true, and Michael knows it, and more importantly, she knows that I know it — so she continues with her impromptu speech. “Luke, you are really good at fixing others, babe,” Michael says sincerely, patting my hand. Her eyes darken as she carries on, not finished yet. “But have you ever considered that maybe you need to let someone else fix you for once? I know you’re an independent woman, Luke, don’t get me wrong. But I think you just need a little help picking up your broken pieces.” It’s achingly familiar to what Ashton said at the mall Saturday. “ _I’m sure you’re an independent woman, you look like you can take care of yourself, but it just seemed like you needed a little bit of help, okay?”_

 

Michael’s known me for sixteen years. She knows me better than anyone else, better than I know myself. So maybe, just maybe, it’s time to start listening to her. 

 

** Luke Hemmings **

** 9:40 PM **

** Let’s not get too carried away, Irwin.  **


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! things get a little crazy towards the end here. bolded phrases represent texting.

Nine

_I’ve been spending all my time_

_Just thinking about you_

_-Fallin for You_

To everyone’s surprise (including and especially my own), Ashton and I become fast friends. There’s something about him that makes it so once he’s pulled you in, you just can’t get enough of him. Maybe it’s his wide smile, with those lovely dimples, or the way his eyes really shine when he’s happy (which is 90% of the time), or perhaps it’s that giggle of his, the giggle he hates but defines his personality — the laughing, bubbly goof that is Ashton Irwin. 

 

Michael loves that she was right about something. I do think Ashton is good for me — I’ve been a lot happier lately, and I’ve cut down on my “bad habit.” The band is doing great because of it — I show up to every practice, viewing them as an opportunity to do some of the things I love, make music and hang out with my best friends. It’s safe to say that I made the right decision in taking Michael’s advice. Of course, Michael takes pleasure in insisting that I’m “falling for” Ashton, but that’s total BS — is it illegal to be good friends with a guy? Okay, maybe a guy you think about all the time, a guy you’re insanely attracted to, but still… Even if I do like Ashton, I can’t be in a relationship with him. I’ll just get hurt again, and I don’t know if I could handle that pain a second time around. 

 

I’ve just finished my maths exam (last test before finals week, and then break!) when my phone buzzes with a text from Ashton. I check to make sure the teacher’s not looking (nope, she’s comfortably propped up with a _Hello!_ magazine), and slide my phone under the desk, typing out a quick response.

 

** Ashton Irwin **

** 2:00 PM **

** how’s school?  **

 

** Luke Hemmings **

** 2:01 PM **

** miserable. just finished a maths exam. 19 mins left until i’m out. **

 

** Ashton Irwin **

** 2:02 PM **

** haha good. too bad there’s no practice on fridays, wanted to ask you somethin. **

 

** Luke Hemmings **

** 2:02 PM **

** well ask me now!!! **

 

** Ashton Irwin **

** 2:03 PM **

** nah it’s something that should b done in person **

 

** Ashton Irwin **

** 2:04 PM **

** u doin anything tonight? **

 

** Luke Hemmings **

** 2:04 PM **

** no wbu **

 

** Ashton Irwin **

** 2:05 PM **

** nope. u wanna hang out? **

 

I’m about to respond with a resounding yes when my phone buzzes with a text from a different person — Calum. 

 

** Calum Hood **

** 2:05 PM **

** remember, u me & mikey @ my house 2nite — games, pizza, beverages ;) also since i’m givin u a ride 2day u have 2 go w/ me 2 get beverages. meet me @ front doors. c u n 15 mins.  **

 

_Shit_. Looks like I won’t be hanging with Ashton tonight. I’m disappointed, but Cal and Mikey will kill me if I cancel tonight’s plans, even for Ashton — we’ve had this planned for months, as it’s not often that Calum’s parents are out of town and he can get some booze for us. Underage drinking or Ashton? Well, obviously I’d rather be with Ashton, but I don’t want to find out what death at the hands of Michael Clifford is like. I sigh loudly and open up my conversation with Ashton.

 

** Luke Hemmings **

** 2:06 PM **

** omg ash i’m so sorry but i have plans w/ cal & mikey tonight! totally forgot. :( sucks i really wanted to hang out :( :(  **

 

** Ashton Irwin **

** 2:07 PM **

** lol is this just your way of saying you don’t wanna hang out? :P **

 

** Luke Hemmings **

** 2:07 PM **

** no! i definitely wanna hang i just can’t tonight, you know mikey, she’ll kill me if i don’t show up. it’s something we’ve been planning for a while, cal’s parents don’t get out of town much. maybe another day? **

 

** Ashton Irwin **

** 2:08 PM **

** sure. i’m busy the rest of this weekend but i’ll see you at practice saturday and we can figure something out then. **

 

** Luke Hemmings **

** 2:08 PM **

** great :) well i g2g, my teacher is giving me the evil eye, but i’ll text ya later. **

 

** Ashton Irwin **

** 2:09 PM **

** bye! have fun with cal & mikey ;)  **

 

I slide my phone into my pocket and pull out a book. Attempting to actually read anything is futile, not when I’m so excited at the prospect of hanging out with Ashton next weekend. I don’t know why I’m so eager, really — I guess it’s just thrilling, having a new friend in my life (and a guy, at that) when I haven’t made a new friend in such a long time. In fact, the last time I made a new friend (excluding Alex, of course) was when I became friends with Calum — and boy, was that a long time ago. 

 

I still remember the day I introduced myself to Calum Hood. It wasn’t in the conventional, “Hi, do you wanna share a sandwich?” way that most people seem to have met. The actual circumstances around our friendship are really rather violent. We were in Year 7, and Michael got in a fight with the new boy at school, a quiet guy with black hair and dark eyes. Michael was a pretty violent girl during that period of her life (from Year 6 to the start of Year 9) — I think she felt she had something to prove, as people could be quite rough on her. Michael wasn’t like everyone else at school — she was a little awkward, lacking the confidence that defines her now, and people liked to make fun of her appearance, as she hadn’t lost all her baby fat in Year 7. So Michael got in a lot of fights.

 

That one day, Calum just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Another boy was making fun of her during lunch, and Michael made a sarcastic remark in response to one of the boy’s taunts. Calum thought this was funny, and he laughed, but Michael assumed he was laughing at her, and proceeded to beat the leaving shit out of him. I had just emerged from the lunch line when I saw the fight, and I immediately intervened before a teacher could see and haul Michael to the principal’s office. Once I’d pressed a napkin to Calum’s bloody nose, I’d asked Michael what the hell she was doing. Michael explained the situation, Calum explained his side, and I became the peacemaker.

 

Calum said he liked something about Michael, and that was why he didn’t run away as soon as I’d interrupted. Michael couldn’t bring herself to hate someone who’d given her a chance when no one else would, and as Calum was thankful I’d stopped the fight, we all bonded quickly. Calum admitted he’d had a rough time at first, as it could be hard as a new kid at our school. That had explained his quiet attitude — as soon as Calum became friends with us, he started to show his hyper and loud side. The kids at school liked this new attitude better, and Calum became a social butterfly of sorts. Still, he never forgot Mikey and I, and we’ve been his best friends since. 

 

I’ve lost myself in my thoughts, and the loud beeping of the bell startles me. I hurry to shove my things in my bag — Calum will _not_ be happy if I make him a second late to the liquor store. A part of me is convinced he wants to make this night as great as possible so he can impress Michael, but maybe Calum’s just always been this neurotic, and I’ve somehow never noticed (yeah, right). 

 

I meet Calum by the school’s front doors, where he’s already waiting, an impatient scowl marring his handsome features. “Cheer up, Cal,” I tease, “you’ll get to see Michael in a few hours.” 

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Calum hisses back, unable to keep the grin from his face as we head to his car. “But, speaking of Michael,” Calum continues, “make sure you text her and remind her of tonight’s plans. You know how she is, she’s probably already forgotten.” 

 

“Right.” I nod and reach into my back pocket for my phone, but only find empty space. Confused, I check my other pocket, then start searching every pocket I have. When that search produces no phone, I look through my backpack, but still no phone. “Ugh,” I groan, smacking my hand to my face, “I’m sorry, Calum, but I think I left my phone in my maths class. Go ahead and get in the car, and I’ll be right back.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder and run back into the school.

 

Of course, my maths classroom is locked and empty, so I decide to check the girls’ locker room, where the lost and found is located. I’ve just bent over the lost and found box when I hear footsteps behind me. I straighten up, thinking it’s the gym teacher (the teachers do occasionally hold found items of high value, such as phones), and turn around, but no one is there. Someone whispers, “Looking for something?” When I turn my head to the source of the voice, I see Alex standing there, dangling my phone from his hand. My blood runs cold at the sight.

 

“Surprise, surprise, princess,” Alex smirks. I don’t even get to respond before there’s a sharp pain in the back of my head, and everything goes black. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! this chapter's longer than usual. hope you like it :) 
> 
> HUGE trigger warnings for self-harm, attempted rape, violence, etc. PLEASE be careful!

Ten

_You found me, you found me_

_Lyin’ on the floor_

_-You Found Me_

I wake up to total darkness. I don’t know where I am, but the throbbing ache in the back of my head, accompanied by the iron taste of blood in my mouth, reminds me how I got here. _Shit. I’ve got to get out of here._ I feel around for my cell phone, but it’s not there — Alex probably still has it. In fact, Alex likely has all of my personal possessions, as I don’t feel my backpack anywhere around me, and even the tube of lip balm I’d had in my pocket is gone. I shiver at the thought that Alex touched me to take all my things — I already feel dirty enough to take a thousand showers.

 

The room floods with light as someone steps in, allowing me to recognize the features. The floors are scratched, water-damaged oak, the walls a stained taupe, and the room isn’t furnished — I’m lying on the floor, wrists and feet bound by scratchy rope. A shattered window would normally allow light into the room, but Alex has covered it with butcher paper. I know this room — it’s on the upper level of an abandoned house, commonly used for Sydney teenagers’ Friday night parties during the cold months. Hell, Michael’s thrown her fair share of parties here. My chest tightens with anxiety; I know that it’ll be a while before anyone finds me here if Alex decides to leave.

 

“Eyes here, babe.” A rough hand jerks my chin up so my eyes meet my captor’s — Alex. I sneak a quick glance and discover Alex’s partner, one of his jock friends, this one named Sean. Figures he’d take a different friend to help him torture me — Cameron probably got scared off from his encounter with Ashton at the mall. The mall reminds me of Michael, and _oh my god_ , Michael and Calum are probably _freaking out_ now, and who knows if they’ve called the police, and oh my god this is terrible.

 

Alex grins, enjoying the worry in my eyes. “You like the pretty new scar Sean just gave you?” I can’t breathe. I don’t know what he’s talking about but this can’t be good. 

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I spit, injecting as much venom into my words as I can. 

 

“Oh, just look, babe.” Alex rolls up my left sleeve, which is sticky with blood. I fight the urge to vomit as Sean’s “pretty new scar” is revealed — a long, vertical cut on my left wrist. It’s deeper than I’ve gone in a long time, and it’s bleeding profusely, enough that I’m worried about bleeding out if I don’t get out of here soon enough.

 

I swallow the bile rising in my throat and manage, “What the hell was that for?” It’s hard to speak, with the tears collecting in my eyes and the tight anxiety in my chest making it difficult to breathe. 

 

“Insurance, baby,” Alex whispers in my ear, stroking my hair. It’s hard not to recoil from his touch, but I try not to, knowing I’ll get hurt if he sees how disgusted I am by him. “Sean and I know what a little whiny brat you are, so we came up with a plan, smart lads that we are. If you try to report us, we’ll go straight to the counselor and tell her that poor Lukey Hemmings tried to kill herself. And you’ll be straight back in the psychiatric ward, won’t you?” My jaw drops. Alex knows I won’t be out of the hospital for months if I’m sent in again for anything the hospital classifies as an attempted suicide. 

 

“So I’m sure you won’t tell on us for what we’re about to do, right, babe?” Alex mouths against my neck. It’s getting hard not to puke at this point, as Sean approaches with a devilish grin, moving a hand to the fly of his jeans. I close my eyes, tears rolling down my face, and it’s Alex’s bedroom all over again, trying not to scream out how much I hate it, how much I don’t want it, please don’t touch me _please don’t touch me please_

 

The sound of a car engine shatters my silent terror. Sean freezes, stopping his attempt at ripping off my top, as Alex stands up, moving to the doorway. “I’ll go check that out. Keep an eye on the bitch,” Alex calls out, going down the staircase, “and you better not fucking touch her until I’m there to watch.” 

 

I contemplate attacking Sean, but he’s far too big for me, with huge muscles from daily rugby workouts. So I sit there, trying to pretend it’s all a dream, and maybe I’ll wake up in Calum’s car, listening to the radio, but it’s not a dream, and this is real, and there’s blood dripping down my arm and oh my god what am I going to do—

 

“C’mon, mate, we gotta fuckin’ go! Someone’s here!” Alex shouts, pounding up the stairs. Sean gives my bonds a tug, making sure they’re tight enough for his liking, and runs after Alex. I can hear their car sputter to life and roar as they zoom off. 

 

It feels like I lie there for hours, sobbing and bleeding, but in reality, it’s probably only a few minutes, as the door downstairs opens. The tears come harder, and I’m openly wailing now — Sean’s come back for me, I’m going to die, I’m not going to make it, I’m sorry Mikey, Calum, Ashton, Mum, Dad, Ben, Jack, I love you, I love you, the person’s coming up the stairs now, oh my god I’m going to die—

 

The figure in the doorway is not Sean or Alex. It’s Ashton. For some reason, this makes me cry harder. _He’s seeing you weak, pathetic, broken like the mistake you are._

 

“Oh my god, Luke!” Ashton cries, rushing over to undo my bonds. “What happened? Who did this to you?” 

 

I can barely talk through my sobs. “G-guys from s-school,” I stutter, gasping for air as my chest carries the weight of the world on it. “B-beat me u-u-up, b-brought me h-here, were g-going to — g-going t t-to—” I gesture to my ripped top, unable to finish. The fury in Ashton’s eyes could scorch a hole in the wall, and if it weren’t for my bleeding state, he’d probably be off forming a mob right now. 

 

I hear the ripping of rope as Ashton flicks out a Swiss Army Knife and cuts through my restraints. My wrists are released first, then my legs, and I wince as the blood rushes back into my limbs. The cut on my left arm is bleeding profusely now, dripping onto the floor and making a complete mess I’m sure will horrify any teenagers who come here to party this winter. “C’mon, babe,” Ashton murmurs, helping me up, “let’s get you home.” 

 

I hate to look weak, but I can’t walk properly. There’s something wrong with my leg — Alex and Sean must have been pretty rough with me when I was unconscious. “Ashton, I-I can’t,” I whisper, gesturing to my leg. Without a second look, Ashton picks me up, cradling me to his chest like he’s a firefighter and I’m in need of rescue. Maybe I am in need of rescue, though I shudder at the thought. It’s sad enough that I have to rely on Ashton to go anywhere at the moment — I can’t depend on him for anything else, or he’ll see how pathetic I really am.

 

It’s clearly true that drummers build up a lot of muscle in their arms, because Ashton carries me down the stairs and out of the house with minimal effort — he lays me down in the backseat of his car so carefully, it’s almost like he thinks I’m fragile. _Well_ , I think, wincing when he straightens up and allows me to see the blood I got on his t-shirt, _maybe I am a little fragile right now._

 

“What time is it?” I ask as Ashton gets in the driver’s seat and starts the engine. “I don’t have any of my stuff, Alex took it all.” 

 

“5:30,” Ashton replies, glancing at his watch. “How long were you there?” he questions as we drive away.

 

“God, thinking about it now, probably at least three hours,” I groan, pressing my sleeve to the cut to try to slow the bleeding. “Do you have your phone? I need to text Calum, he’s probably freaking out, I was supposed to go home with him.”

 

“Yeah, um, what exactly happened? Who is this Alex, and how did he kidnap you?” Ashton says through gritted teeth. His face softens when he sees my pained expression, and he quickly adds, “Only if you feel comfortable talking about it.” 

 

“No, it’s fine,” I assure him. “Um, let’s see, where to start…. Well, Alex is my ex-boyfriend. We dated for a year and broke up last January. We didn’t end on good terms, and he’s kind of been a jerk since — getting his friends to call me names, harassing me, et cetera.” Ashton looks like he wants to punch something. “Um, anyway, I was supposed to go home with Calum — y’know, I had plans with Calum and Mikey tonight, and I was gonna go with Calum to pick up some drinks. I forgot my phone in my maths class, but the classroom was locked when I went to go check it, so I went to the locker room, cos that’s where the lost and found is.” I stop for a second and take a deep breath.

 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Ashton reminds me. I nod and resume with my story.

 

“Well, someone came into the locker room and asked if I was looking for something,” I continue. “When I turned to see who it was, Alex was standing there with my phone, and his friend, Sean, knocked me out with something, I don’t know what.” Ashton’s hands are white on the steering wheel. “They brought me to that house, I woke up, and, well, you know the rest.” 

 

“You bet I do,” Ashton growls. “Was this Alex the idiot who was choking you at the mall?” 

 

“Yeah,” I whisper, slightly scared of what Ashton will do. He can’t get involved in this — Alex and Sean will just make things worse for me. 

 

“I _knew_ that asshole looked familiar!” Ashton cries, braking roughly as we hit a red light. I’m jolted violently, and I can’t help but let out a wince. Ashton turns around in his seat. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, my temper got the best of me and affected my driving,” Ashton says apologetically. 

 

I nod, rubbing my throbbing head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Anyway, what were _you_ doing at that house?” I ask. “Do you just have some kind of sixth sense that enables you to find people in danger? I mean, c’mon, first the mall, now this…” I trail off, and Ashton chuckles lowly.

 

“No,” he says. “Unfortunately, my explanation is far less interesting. See, when I have a day off, I go to that house to practice drumming — my house can be pretty hectic, with two younger siblings, so I haul around a cajon drum box that I can use to practice and when the house is too loud, I just go.” 

 

“Wow, aren’t I lucky,” I murmur. “I mean, if you hadn’t gone to practice today, I’d probably still be in that house. What made you suspicious?” 

 

“I saw those guys speeding off so quickly,” Ashton explains, “and I figured that was pretty shady. Besides, I’m the only weirdo who would be at an abandoned house at five o’clock in the afternoon — anyone else who does that is suspicious to me.” 

 

I laugh softly at Ashton’s words. “Well, thank you for saving me, Mr. Hero Irwin,” I grin. 

 

“No thanks necessary,” Ashton replies. “I shouldn’t have to be thanked, because this shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Speaking of, should I go to the police station, or would you rather go alone?”

 

“What are you talking about, Ashton? I’m not going to the police,” I clarify.

 

“Jesus Christ, Luke! You were kidnapped, assaulted, and nearly raped! That’s at least three different charges I can think of,” Ashton cries. “Why wouldn’t you want to file a report? Maybe they’ll leave you alone if the law comes after them.”

 

“I know, Ashton, but…” I bite my lip, having a quick internal debate as to whether or not I should inform him about the cut. I decide Ashton will probably find out one way or another, so I might as well tell the truth. “Alex’s friend, Sean, cut me as a form of ‘insurance.’ They made the cut really deep, and vertical, so it looks pretty bad, and they said that if I try to report them, they’ll go to the counselor’s office and claim I tried to kill myself. I wouldn’t get out of the mental hospital for months,” I explain. 

 

Ashton falls silent, either out of anger or a sheer inability to come up with a response to that heavy-hitting answer. I break the quiet as we pull up to an unfamiliar house — a nice one, but it’s not my house.

 

“Ashton, where are you taking me?” I ask. “This isn’t my house.”

 

“Oh, I know,” Ashton replies. “I remembered your mom won’t be home right now, cuz she thinks you’re at Michael’s, so I figured I’d take you to my house to get patched up.” I glance nervously at my arm. If Ashton tries to tend to Sean’s cut, he’ll definitely see my self-inflicted wounds, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to have that conversation yet.

 

“Well, thank you, Ashton, that’s a really sweet offer, but I think I’d rather just head to my place, I have a key—” I start.

 

“No,” Ashton interrupts, shutting off the engine. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until I’m certain you won’t bleed to death when you’re left alone. Now c’mon, I’ll help you inside.” Ashton exits the car and opens my door, waiting patiently as I slowly slide out of the car and into his arms, hissing in pain the whole time. 

 

Ashton carries me into the house, setting me down when we reach his kitchen. I like Ashton’s house — it’s warm and inviting, and smells of vanilla candles. We’re obviously not alone — a pretty blonde woman who I assume is Ashton’s mother is cooking, and two young children, a boy and a girl, sit at the table, doing homework. Ashton clears his throat to announce his presence, and when the blonde woman turns around to greet him, she gasps in shock.

 

“Ashton! What on earth is going on?” she asks worriedly.

 

“Mum, this is my mate, Luke. She’s been attacked and I need to help her get patched up,” Ashton explains. “Her parents aren’t home and I’m too worried to send her off in this state.” 

 

Mrs. Irwin looks me up and down before nodding in agreement. “Yes, best to take her to your room and grab the first aid kit,” she says. “It’s in the medicine cabinet. We’ll talk later.”

 

“Thanks, Mum,” Ashton calls, already helping me up the stairs. The two kids, who I’m assuming are his siblings, look on in wonder, clearly curious about the current situation. The kids start to chatter as Ashton and I reach the top of the stairs, but Mrs. Irwin quickly shushes them, turning on the radio to distract the little ones.

 

Ashton leads me down the hallway, stopping at the third room on the right. The door is wide open — Ashton clearly doesn’t have much to hide — and the walls are plastered in band posters. I spot a few of my personal favorites — Blink-182, Green Day, and Nirvana — and laugh at the crappy, clearly homemade poster for Swallow the Goldfish. All of the band members, except for Ashton, have been crudely scribbled out with black Sharpie, probably a rash decision made during a fit of anger. Ashton follows my line of sight to the poster, and shrugs, helping me lay down on the bed. “I was a little pissed when I found out we were breaking up,” he tells me. “So I stole one of my little brother’s markers and went to town.” This makes me laugh even harder, and I can’t help but grimace — excessive movement certainly doesn’t help my soreness. 

 

Ashton notices my face, and says, “I’ll be right back,” disappearing to presumably find the first aid kit. Left to my own devices, I worry about the best way to fix myself up without Ashton seeing anything suspicious — I’ll definitely have to wrap up the cut that Sean gave me, as allowing Ashton to do it would reveal my other injuries, the ones I’d rather not talk about. I allow a small smile at the thought of Ashton bandaging my wounds — the whole overprotective caveman attitude is kind of hot on him. Not that I find Ashton hot — he _is_ my best friend, and that’s all.

 

Less than five minutes later, Ashton returns with not just a first aid kit, but a blanket and heating pad. “Best to be over-prepared than under-prepared,” Ashton says with a shrug, clearly aware of my quizzical glance his way. He sets his items down on the bed and moves to perch on the edge, before leaning over me and placing a gentle hand on my forehead. “You’re a bit cold,” Ashton notes. “Probably from blood loss or shock. Not cold enough to warrant a trip to the hospital, though. I’ll get you set up with a blanket and some hot tea once we’re done with the first aid kit.” 

 

“Actually, Ashton, I can just patch myself up with your first aid kit,” I say, sitting up. “No need for you to do it, though it’s very sweet of you to offer.” 

 

That familiar fire is back in Ashton’s eyes. “Luke, you’re in my house, and you are my guest. I found you, and I will help bandage you up,” he insists. “I don’t think you’re capable of doing it yourself at the moment.” 

 

My chest tightens with anxiety. “Please, Ashton, I really think—” I protest.

 

“ _No_ ,” Ashton interrupts. “I’ll do it, Luke.” I fall silent, caught up with attempting to formulate a Plan B, as Ashton opens the first aid kit and sets up shop.

 

Life must really hate me, as Ashton goes straight for my left arm, currently covered by the blood-soaked sleeve of my sweatshirt. Rolling up the sleeve, he surprisingly doesn’t pay much attention to my wound, simply pressing some gauze to it and instructing me to hold it there until the bleeding’s slowed (I can’t help but snort at this; like I haven’t been through this rodeo before?). After cleaning and bandaging some minor cuts on my face and chest, Ashton goes back to check my arm. “Should have almost stopped by now,” he says, gently lifting up the gauze and peering at the cut closely. Thankfully, the bleeding’s stopped — but then again, I’m not too sure if I should be thankful for that, as it allows Ashton to inspect the wound more carefully.

 

I almost think that maybe it’s dark enough in the room that Ashton doesn’t see it. He doesn’t say anything at first, and there isn’t a weird look on his face. “The cut is actually shallower than it appears,” Ashton says, furrowing his brows. “You must have thin blood, that would explain why it bled so much. However, it definitely still warrants a covering of some sort.” He leans over and grabs a few bandaids, pressing them onto the wound, before wrapping it with a larger dressing. I sigh in relief, thankful that it’s done and Ashton somehow hasn’t noticed my cuts, and roll my sleeve back up. That’s when Ashton looks at me, and I see how his eyes have gone hard.

 

The soft warmth has completely leeched out of Ashton’s eyes, replaced by coldness and a hint of raw pain. “Don’t think I didn’t notice, Luke,” Ashton hisses, grabbing my good wrist when I try to get up from the bed. 

 

“Notice what, Ash?” I try to play dumb, like I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I’ve always been a bad liar with Ashton.

 

“Oh, you know, the cuts, scabs and scars?” Ashton snaps. I flinch; he’s never been this livid with me. I don’t think he’s ever even raised his voice with me, actually. “You know you’re playing with your _life_ , Luke, right?” Ashton continues, getting even louder. I look around, worried his mother will burst in any moment and ask what the commotion’s about. 

 

“Ashton, I’m perfectly aware—” I begin.

 

“ _Are_ you, Luke?” Ashton interrupts, coldness melting away and changing to fire. “Do you _really_ know what’s at stake? How long, Luke? _How long_?” 

 

“Please, Ashton, stop,” I plead. Tears are pooling in my eyes now, threatening to spill over at any moment. “Please, I don’t want anyone to hear, I couldn’t deal with that.” Maybe it’s the desperate tone of my voice, or the liquid pain falling down my cheeks, but something strikes a chord with Ashton, and his face softens. 

 

“Let me show you something,” he breathes. Slipping off the sweatband that covers his left wrist, Ashton turns his palm over, revealing his wrist to me. The tears come harder at what I see — dozens of pale, horizontal scars, reminders of my own personal struggle.

 

“I stopped,” Ashton says quietly, rubbing a thumb over the whitened parallel lines, “and it was really hard at first.” He glances up at me, a look of clear determination set on his face. “But after a while, you realize that you can do it, and it’s so worth it — staying clean, I mean. And if you can’t do it for yourself, then you do it for the people around you, the people you’re unintentionally harming by hurting yourself,” Ashton continues, taking a bandaid and pressing it onto my face. “Sorry,” he adds, breaking into a smile. “Missed one.” 

 

I grin back at him, but pull away from his touch, still lingering on my cheek, when I remember our topic of conversation from just a few moments ago. “I’ve been clean for a few days,” I murmur, “but it’s just hard.” Ashton simply gazes at me, eyes clearly expressing the words I know he wants to say— _I know exactly what you mean_.

 

“What’s your reason?” Ashton asks, getting up and rearranging the first aid kit, nearly empty after my ‘fix-up session.’ “I mean, I guess you don’t have to have one, but there’s probably a reason why you started, right?” 

 

“Mhm,” I nod, picking at a stray thread on my shirt. “It was the bullying, I suppose. I’ve been bullied all my life, and although it got better as I got older, it left me with virtually no self-esteem. I just… hate myself.”

 

“Luke.” Ashton’s sitting next to me again, the heat from his skin warming me more than any promise of hot tea ever could. “You know I think you’re perfect, right?” I’m silent, unable to formulate a coherent response to that. _Ashton thinks I’m perfect… Oh my god._ “I mean, it’d be dumb if I expected you to stop just because of that, but I just thought I’d throw that out there. Anyway, I think you should really consider trying to quit. Flush your blades, wear a rubber band, whatever it takes—”

 

“Don’t you think I’ve heard all this before?” I cut in. “The long, boring spiel about how so many people care about me, and they’re getting hurt too when I cut? I _know_ , Ashton. I know.” 

 

Hurt flashes briefly in Ashton’s eyes, before he sighs and says, “I’m just trying to help. But I understand. You need time.” 

 

“Yes,” I agree. “I do need time.” I reach out and place a hand on Ashton’s shoulder. The electricity from the contact sends shivers through my body. “And look, I do appreciate you trying to help. It means a lot to me, really. I just don’t think I’m in a place where I can make a promise to you that I know I’ll break.” The sadness on Ashton’s face nearly kills me. “But,” I add, “I think with your help, I’ll get to that place, sooner rather than later.” Ashton smiles widely, and hops off the bed.

 

“Well, that’s enough serious talk for now,” Ashton declares, helping me get off the bed. “Luke Hemmings, it’s time for you to meet the family.” 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayyy actual progress on making 5sos in this one. thank you for reading!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Talk of self-harm, Underage alcohol abuse

Eleven

_Oh, you are my guilty pleasure_

_-Guilty Pleasure_

Ashton leads me back into the kitchen, where his mother is still working on dinner, and his siblings have resumed with their homework. I’m introduced to Mrs. Irwin first, and she’s just as bright and sunny as her son, giving me a warm hug before she even knows my name. “So, Luke, how do you know Ashy?” Mrs. Irwin asks, grinning devilishly at the redness creeping into Ashton’s cheeks.

 

“We met at the mall, Mum,” Ashton says quickly. “Then Luke’s friend Michael invited me to join their band, and you know the rest.” 

 

Mrs. Irwin nods. “Well, that’s just great,” she beams. “I’m so happy my Ashy has made a new friend, he’s had a hard time since his old band broke up—”

 

“That’s enough, Mum,” Ashton interrupts, dragging me over to the table, where his siblings are seated. He taps the little girl on the shoulder, and she turns around, giving Ashton a massive bear hug. The Irwins certainly know how to give a proper hug.

 

“Lauren,” Ashton coos, “there’s someone I want you to meet.” He wriggles out of his sister’s hug and pushes me gently, forcing me to step forward. “This is Luke. She’s in a band with me. Luke, this is Lauren. She’s my twelve-year-old sister.” 

 

“Hi, Luke,” Lauren waves. Her gaze immediately falls on my bracelet-covered arms, and I stiffen. “You have pretty bracelets,” she grins.

 

I relax, relieved that Lauren was only examining my choice in accessories. “Thanks, Lauren,” I grin. “I’m glad you like them. I can get you a few, if you want.” 

 

“Really?” Lauren’s entire face lights up, and I swear her megawatt smile could generate power for the whole of Sydney. 

 

“Of course,” I laugh. “I’ll bring you some next time I come over, okay?” 

 

“Yay! Thank you!” Lauren says happily. 

 

“Are you implying there’s going to be a next time?” Ashton murmurs in my ear.

 

“Maybe,” I quip, and Ashton chuckles. 

 

“Well, you know you’re always welcome,” he responds, before leading us toward a small boy. “Harry,” Ashton booms, “c’mere for a second.” The little boy jumps out of his chair and runs into Ashton’s arms. Ashton picks him up and swings him around a few times before setting his brother back down on the ground.

 

“Harry,” Ashton whispers, almost like he’s sharing a secret, “there’s a very special person I want you to meet. Will you let me introduce you?” 

 

“Yeah!” Harry nods eagerly. Grinning, Ashton hoists his brother into the air, so we’re eye-to-eye.

 

“Harry,” Ashton says, “this is my friend, Luke. She plays with me in a band. Luke, this is my little brother Harry. He’s a big boy now; just turned seven.” 

 

“Hiya, Luke!” Harry squeals, and I giggle at the sincere happiness in his voice.

 

“Hiya, Harry,” I respond. Ashton sets him down, and turns back to his mother. 

 

“Mum, can Luke stay for dinner?” he asks. I start to protest, but the older Irwins ignore me.

 

“Of course, honey,” Mrs. Irwin replies. “And don’t you say a thing, Luke — it’s nice to have some new company around here. But I do think you should call your parents and let them know.” That reminds me of Calum and Mikey, who have probably organized a search party by now.

 

“Definitely,” I agree, “but I don’t have a phone. Could I use yours?”

 

“Sure.” Mrs. Irwin points to a handset by the sink. 

 

“Thanks.” I head over to the phone, and Michael’s house is the first number I dial. Calum picks up on the first ring.

 

“Luke! Where the hell did you go?” he fumes. 

 

“It’s a long story,” I sigh, “but I swear I didn’t ditch you, okay? I’m really sorry, i was something, um… unexpected.” 

 

I can hear Michael shouting in the background, attempting to convince Calum to give her the phone. There’s a brief struggle, before it’s Michael on the other line. “What the fuck happened, Luke?” Michael hisses. I wince, praying that Harry and Lauren don’t hear Michael’s harsh language. “You promised! We’ve had plans for months!” Michael continues, yelling now.

 

“I know!” My voice is rising, too, as I attempt to get my explanation in. “But I got, like, jumped, okay? I’m fine, Ashton stopped it and I’m at his place now, and I’ll be over soon, I promise! Okay?” 

 

Michael’s silent now. “You better have give me the full fucking story when you come over, or I’m finding out for myself,” she says. “I’ll see you in thirty minutes. Oh,  and by the way, you’re not getting let in unless you have a good idea for a band name. Bye.” The line goes dead, and I slam the phone down, forgetting I’m at Ashton’s house in my moment of rage.

 

“Goodness! What was that all about?” Mrs. Irwin cries.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologize. “My friends were just worried about me, and my friend Michael, well, she tends to be very, um, _passionate_ when she’s stressed.” 

 

“I understand completely,” Mrs. Irwin shakes her head. “Will you still be staying for dinner? I’ve made enough chicken for four.” 

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Irwin, but I really need to get going,” I say regretfully. “I wish I could stay, you’ve been so kind, but my friends will probably call the police if I don’t show up soon.” 

 

“Oh, that’s just fine, dearie,” Mrs. Irwin chirps. “Ashton can drive you there.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ashton agrees. “Just let me go to the bathroom really quick.” He wanders off into an adjacent hallway, and I hear a door close. I stand there awkwardly, Harry and Lauren quieter than ever, as Mrs. Irwin finishes making dinner.

 

“So,” Mrs. Irwin pipes up, “this band that you and Ashton are in, what’s it called?” 

 

“Well,” I say sheepishly, “we haven’t really come up with a name yet. I’m supposed to, but I only have a few ideas, and I can’t quite decide on anything.” 

 

“Well, Harry, Lauren and I would love to help, if you’d like,” Mrs. Irwin suggests. “Just tell us your names, and we can have a vote.” 

 

“That’s a great idea,” I smile. “Tell me when you’re ready.” Mrs. Irwin quickly explains to Harry and Lauren what we’re doing, and then signals that she’s ready to go.

 

“Okay, my first name is Up and Out,” I say. Mrs. Irwin shrugs at that, and no one raises their hand. “My next idea was Sydney Sideshow.” I get an even worse response, with Harry making a disgusted face at the name. “Okay, well, this last one is pretty personal for me,” I sigh. I pause for a moment before announcing my final idea. “5 Seconds of Summer.” 

 

Harry and Lauren exchange a grin, and Mrs. Irwin claps her hands in excitement. “Oh, dear, that’s the perfect name,” she smiles. “But we should still take a vote, just to be certain.” Harry and Lauren’s hands shoot up in the air, and Mrs. Irwin’s hand joins them. I look to my right and see Ashton, smirking and holding both hands high for 5 Seconds of Summer.

 

“5SOS it is then,” I declare, the kids cheering in excitement. 

 

“Well, Ashton, I believe it’s time for you to take Luke home,” Mrs. Irwin declares, wrapping me in a gentle hug. “Thank you for coming over,” she murmurs in my ear.

 

“Thank you for having me over, and helping me with the band name,” I respond, waving goodbye to Harry and Lauren as Ashton grabs the keys. We head out, and Ashton helps me get into the car; I’m still sore from Alex and Sean’s assault.

 

“Congrats on the good name idea,” Ashton says as we back out of the driveway. “How’d you come up with 5 Seconds of Summer? It’s really perfect.” 

 

“Well, there’s a backstory to it,” I confess. 

 

“What is that backstory, if I may ask?” Ashton questions. Sighing deeply, I decide now’s a better time than any other.

 

“It has to do with the summer before Year 10,” I tell him. “That was during my original, first period of self-harm. I was hospitalized that August after I went too deep. My brother Jack found me in the bathroom, and I was stuck in the mental ward for several weeks. When I got out, school was about to start, and to me, it felt like time had frozen when I was in the hospital, so that was really weird. It felt like I’d only had five seconds of summer, and that’s where the name came from.” 

 

“Wow. That is pretty intimate,” Ashton muses. 

 

“I didn’t expect for anyone to like it,” I admit. 

 

“It’s honestly perfect,” Ashton says sincerely. “It’s bittersweet, but in a way that only people our age could understand, y’know what I mean?” 

 

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I know exactly what you mean.” We’re silent the rest of the way to Calum’s house, Ashton only speaking up when we pull into the driveway. 

 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Ashton says, shutting off the car and turning to face me. “You had me really worried there for a second, Luke.” 

 

“Yeah, I was pretty scared, too,” I acknowledge. “But thank you for helping me get all patched up.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and already have a hand on the car door when Ashton jumps out, too.

 

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he offers, and after all that Ashton’s done for me today, I can’t say no. Without any bags for him to courteously carry, Ashton’s arms lay awkwardly by his sides, fingers drumming nervously on his thighs. Ashton is a ball of energy, always moving, always doing something. He practically skips to Calum’s front door, only slowing when he realizes that I’m moving cautiously due to my injuries. A sheepish grin overwhelming his features, Ashton waits for me to catch up before ascending the steps to the front door and ringing the doorbell.

 

“I’ll get out of here before Calum and Mikey ring my neck,” Ashton whispers in my ear, hearing the footsteps coming down the stairs inside the house. “Bye, Luke. I’ll see you at practice.” He catches me by surprise with a hug far too intimate for my taste, but I allow him to wrap his arms around me anyway. Ashton’s hugs are a guilty pleasure, an unnecessary indulgence I’ll gladly partake in any time, and something about this one flips a switch in me. I’m suddenly drowning in a wave of emotions, a tsunami of caring for Ashton and anxiety about Sean and Alex and a million other things I can’t decipher. I need to get numb, fast, but I’m obviously not going to find a razor blade at Calum’s house (he knows better than to have anything sharp around me), so it’ll have to be the alcohol Calum surely has stashed away for our little party.

 

Ashton’s car is already speeding away when Michael opens the door, a bemused expression crossing her pretty features. “Who brought you here, Luke?” she asks, craning her neck to check our surroundings. “There isn’t a car here, and I know your parents aren’t home — I called your house probably fifty times.” 

 

I shrug. “Doesn’t matter, does it?” I quip, ducking under Michael’s arm to enter the house. 

 

“Hey, wait! You have to give me the band name first!” Michael calls after me angrily, following me up the stairs, where I’m sure Calum will be waiting in his ‘party room,’ AKA the game room his parents haven’t touched since it was built. 

 

“I’ll give you a name as soon as you give me a drink,” I chirp back, throwing open the door to Calum’s party room. The poor boy jumps at least a foot into the air, startled by my sudden entrance — he was probably wrapped up in his iPhone. 

 

“Nice to see you, Calum,” I drawl, heading over to his covered box of alcohol and rifling through it for what I need right now. I find a bottle of whipped cream vodka, the same thing I drank at the club the night I met Ashton, and examine it carefully. Normally, I won’t even go near this stuff — it tastes pretty horrible — but right now I just need to numb my feelings. Twisting open the cap, I reach for a red cup with shaking hands, pouring the vodka into it and downing my entire cup in one gulp. 

 

“Luke, what the hell is going on?” Calum demands, storming over to me and ripping the vodka bottle from my hands. 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist, attempting to steal the liquor back, but Calum’s stronger. 

 

“Really? First, you disappear from school and don’t text us or call us for three hours, then you show up here and you won’t even tell me who brought you!” Michael exclaims, having rushed to Calum’s side to back him up. “And now you’re about to go through a bottle of vodka like it’s water! Luke, you don’t even like alcohol that much, what the fuck is your deal today?” 

 

“Maybe I wanna have a little fun,” I slur, already feeling the effects of my drink. I’ve always been a lightweight. 

 

“No, I don’t think that it’s, Luke,” Michael says quietly, placing the vodka back in the box and covering it up again. “I think something happened, and you’re just too scared to tell us.” 

 

“Why would I be scared to tell _you_?” I hiss, attempting to escape to the couch. I want to avoid the lecture I can tell is brewing in Michael. 

 

“Because you don’t like to feel,” Michael answers matter-of-factly. “And if you told us, it might bring up bad feelings.” 

 

Michael’s statement is too true for me to handle, and the harshness of it brings tears to my eyes. Suddenly, I’m curled up on the couch, sobbing quietly. The couch sinks with the weight of an additional person, and I know it’s Michael by my side, stroking my hair and whispering words of comfort into my ear. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Michael murmurs. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. But know that we’re here, okay?” 

 

∞

I don’t tell them until a few hours later, at midnight, when we’re busy playing video games and eating lukewarm pizza. I’m at peace, aching feelings soothed by the distraction of the false reality of the game, and it kind of just slips out — but I don’t stop the words flowing from my mouth. Michael and Calum _are_ my best friends, and they deserve to know.

 

“I went to get my phone, and Alex was in the locker room. His friend Sean knocked me out, and they beat me up when I was unconscious,” I whisper. Michael and Calum drop their controllers, shocked by my sudden outburst, and pause the game, knowing I’ll need their silent support to continue.

 

“They took me to that abandoned house, the place where you had that party in Year 10, Mikey,” I say softly. Michael shivers in disgust next to me. “Sean cut my arm, Alex said they’d use it as insurance in case I tried to report them, so they could say I tried to kill myself and get me sent to the mental hospital.” I roll up my sleeve, showing them the bandage wrapped around my arm. “They were going to use me, for their own pleasure, but when Ashton showed up, they left. Ashton found me and took me to his house, bandaged me up.” I close my eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks. _You’re so weak, Luke, stop crying. Pathetic bitch._  

 

“Did he…” Calum trails off, not allowing himself to continue.

 

“Yes. He saw,” I breathe. “But he was so loving about it, so helpful, and—” I take a shuddering breath, shaking with sobs. “He cares too much, and it _hurts_ , I love him and it hurts. I’m scared, Mikey, Cal, how do I deal with this, I can’t handle getting hurt again—” I’m cut off by the warmth of Michael and Calum’s arms around me, and I cry into Calum’s shirt, weeping until there aren’t any tears left. When my breaths are no longer choked with tears, my friends release me from their grip, allowing me to rock back on my heels.

 

“You needed that,” Michael says plainly. 

 

“Yeah.” Calum nods in agreement. “Feelings suck, Luke, but we want to help you deal with them,” he continues. “Any time you need one of these good cries, just call me or Mikey, you know we’re down to hang out any time.” 

 

“Thanks, you guys,” I mumble. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I breathe deeply before continuing, Michael and Calum looking on sympathetically. “Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen, alright? I don’t want Ashton to think anything’s going on. I’m just going to move on and act like I don’t have feelings for him, and eventually, we’ll get over this, this… whatever it is.” 

 

“Are you sure?” Calum questions. “I mean, I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to bottle your emotions up—”

 

“It’ll work,” I say sharply. “Just trust me on this, okay?” My tone turns pleading as I continue. “Please, I need it to be like that.” 

 

“Okay, Luke,” Michael says slowly. “Okay.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a little fluffy. but it has to get worse before it gets better, so you'll get more fluff towards the end. thank you for reading!

Twelve

_You’re my sunshine_

_-You’re My Best Friend_

The rest of the weekend passes by quickly, and Monday (three days after the attack) is here before I’m even remotely prepared. I console myself with the knowledge that winter break starts the moment the last bell rings this Friday. Freedom is so close I can taste it, and that helps me convince myself to wake up this morning.

 

Michael hasn’t mentioned the attack since the sleepover Friday night, but her silence as we drive to school says everything. Her grip is tight on the steering wheel, so tight it’s a wonder she hasn’t lost sensation in her fingers. Texting Ashton is the only way I get through the awkward ride — he’s incredibly bubbly today, even more so than usual. It almost seems odd, but I don’t want to cause friction in this friendship when I worry my feelings may already complicate it, so I leave the matter alone. 

 

As Michael and I walk up to the school, I swear I see a familiar head of curls glinting in the sunlight. “Mikey.” I nudge my best friend. She looks up, caught off guard by my sudden movement. “Look, did you see that?”

 

“See what, Luke?” Michael pops her gum, scanning the sea of students for anything out of the ordinary. “Oh, the guy in the pickle shirt? Yeah, I know, totally weird.” 

 

“No.” I shake my head. “I swear I saw…” I trail off, stopping in front of the front doors. There he is, my own personal ray of sunshine, leaning next to the entrance and clutching a beaten leather schoolbag I’m all too familiar with. Forgetting about Michael next to me, I run up to Ashton and jump into his arms, hugging him tightly in an attempt to recreate the infamous Irwin grip. He chuckles lowly in my ear, warm breath blowing against my skin and sending shivers up my spine.

 

“How’d you get this?” I ask as Ashton gently sets me back on the ground. “I mean, I assumed Alex would have it at his place…” I trail off, lowering my voice and looking around to ensure no one heard me. “But he’s known to be kind of careless, so it would make sense for him to just dump it somewhere.” 

 

Dangling my bag from his fingers (those _ridiculously_ long fingers), Ashton drops his other loot into my waiting hands, a smirk set on his face. “Sure, he dumped it somewhere,” Ashton quips, dimples deepening as his smile grows at my shocked expression. My phone, songwriting journal and keys to Michael and Calum’s houses rest in my hands. “The rest of your books are in your bag,” Ashton explains. He grins devilishly as he continues, “Not like there were many. Do you ever study, Luke?”

 

“Don’t need to,” I shoot back, playfully snatching the bag away. “Guess I’m just that smart.” 

 

“Well, I can’t say I have a hard time believing that,” Ashton snorts, adjusting the bandana enveloping his curls. _God, those fucking bandanas kill me every time._ “Anyways, that’s all I found,” Ashton adds. “If there’s anything else missing, tell me, and I’ll grab it for you.” 

 

I’m buzzing with happiness as I wrap my arms around Ashton again, gratitude washing over me. “I’m so happy, I could kiss you,” I murmur against Ashton’s chest. Both of us surprised by my words, Ashton stiffens against me, and I cringe, praying I haven’t made a silly mistake. With shock, I note that I’m not regretting my words because I don’t want Ashton to think I have feelings for him — I’m regretting my words because I’m scared Ashton won’t reciprocate those feelings. I’ve never been so comfortable around anyone, and normally, that would scare me enough to send me running to first period, but I’m drunk on joy, something I’ve never experienced before, and it’s overwhelming me.

 

I pull away from Ashton, and his eyes are sparkling with warmth, though his face is as red as Michael’s favorite hair dye. “Well, if you feel like it, you have my permission,” Ashton laughs awkwardly, fiddling with a hole in his t-shirt. Caught up in the exhilaration of the moment, I close the distance between us, until our noses are practically touching. Ashton’s breath catches, and I smile slightly as I tilt my head, close my eyes and—

 

“EXCUSE ME! Do you have a VISITOR’S BADGE, young man?” a voice shouts. Ashton and I spring apart, and I groan mentally as I realize it’s my principal barreling towards us. 

 

“Sorry?” Ashton asks, confused. 

 

“A _visitor’s badge_ ,” the principal says icily, peering down at Ashton through her cat-eye glasses. “You’ll need one to be on school property at this hour. Class is about to start.” 

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ashton apologizes, running a hand through his hair. “I was just bringing my, er, friend something she forgot. I’ll be going now. Have a good day, Luke.” Giving me a quick squeeze on the shoulder, Ashton hurries into the parking lot, disappearing in a sea of cars. 

 

“Miss Hemmings, after three years as a student here at Norwest High School, I am sure you are aware of our rules on public displays of affection,” the principal hisses, guiding me through the front doors. “So I cannot imagine why I just found you on the verge of _breaking_ those rules with a young man who is not even a student here!” The principal’s voice becomes shrill as she continues, making me wince.

 

“I’m sorry, Principal Maynard,” I whisper, shrinking under the woman’s intimidating gaze. “It won’t happen again.”

 

“Good,” she sniffs. “And _do_ keep in mind that the next time your _friend_ decides to visit, he must have a visitor’s badge.” I nod mutely, unable to meet the principal’s stony gaze. “Wonderful. Hurry to class now, or you'll be late.” 

 

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I scurry off, nearly sprinting to my first period, though my mind is occupied with thoughts of Ashton that weigh me down. I’m disgusted with myself for even thinking about kissing Ashton, let alone almost going through with it. I’ve been reckless today, and that’s not a good sign — I’m losing control. I’d better get a hold of myself, or my life is going to become even bigger of a mess than it already is — and frankly, I’m not sure if I can survive that.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! bolded phrases indicate texting.

Thirteen

_Because these things will change_

_Can you feel it now?_

_-Change_

I'm distracted the whole day, unable to focus on anything but the huge mistake I made this morning. The best plan of action, I decide, is to just play it cool and act like nothing happened — which is why when Ashton texts me and asks if I want to hang out, I immediately say yes. He tells me he’ll pick me up at school at 2:40, 20 minutes after classes let out for the day, so I kill time primping in the bathroom. It’s not a good idea, not when I’m trying to dispel any notions of attraction between Ashton and me, but I do it anyways. I’ll allow for today to be my “cheat day” of sorts — I can be a little rebellious, though not overly so, and tomorrow everything will go back to normal. I won’t show a hint of flirtation to Ashton.

 

I’m at the school entrance in seconds when Ashton texts me that he’s here. He pulls up in his beat-up Ford sedan, blasting Green Day loud enough that I’m convinced the principal will come outside and lecture us again. I quickly hop in the front seat before anything disastrous can happen, prompting Ashton to give me a confused look. “What’s got you in a hurry?” he questions, turning out of the school parking lot.

 

I don’t want to bring up the principal and remind Ashton of this morning’s awkward encounter, so I settle for a lie. “Didn’t want to see my chemistry teacher,” I shrug, buckling my seatbelt. “He’s kind of after my head right now… I didn’t do so well on my last test.”

 

“Oh.” Ashton falls silent for a moment before piping up again. “I was always pretty good in chemistry. I can help you after practice some time, if you want.”

 

“Thanks, but I already have a tutor.” Avoiding Ashton’s inquisitive eyes, I play with my phone, shooting a quick text to Calum and checking my Instagram.

 

“Hey, can you check the weather?” Ashton asks. 

 

“Um, sure.” I open the weather app and report my findings. “30 degrees, clear all evening.”

 

“Sound like beach weather to you?” Ashton says, glancing over at me. I’m paying attention now, noticing the lively change in his tone.

 

“I guess. Why?” I have no idea what Ashton’s got up his sleeve, but judging by the huge smirk that’s spread across his features, I’m betting it’s something good.

 

“Because,” Ashton grins, shutting off the engine, “we’re going to the beach, Lukey.” 

 

∞

In my attempt to distract myself from the awkwardness of the environment in the car, I hadn’t noticed Ashton pulling into the parking lot of our local boardwalk. At this time of year, Sydney’s boardwalk is just picking up as far as business goes, but by late December, when most of the schools let out, it’ll be bustling with activity. However, Mondays clearly aren’t a busy day here, as we only find a few sunscreen-slathered tourists wandering about. Ashton takes me to his favorite ice cream shop — one of Sydney’s “hidden gems,” he tells me — and splits a vanilla cone with me, forcing us to wait until we reach the beach to actually take a lick out of it. My friend is well-prepared with a huge towel and a jumbo-size bottle of SPF 50, which, at Ashton’s insistence, I coat my face with — wouldn’t want to damage that envied pale complexion.

 

We’ve only been sitting on the beach for a few minutes, watching the waves glint in the sunlight and making small talk in between bites of ice cream, when the subject of family somehow gets brought up. I think it starts with a small comment from Ashton, something about how Lauren is so excited for her bracelets (I promise to bring them to practice on Tuesday), and that turns to talk of our relatives. It’s a relatively innocent conversation at first — I explain that I have two older brothers, Ben and Jack, both of whom are at university — but then the time comes for Ashton to talk about his loved ones, and I know things are about to go incredibly wrong when I see the dark shadow crossing Ashton’s face.

 

“What’s wrong, Ash?” I ask quietly. The crash of the ocean almost drowns me out, but I know Ashton can hear me when I see his face soften. “We don’t have to talk about it,” I add. _Come to think of it, that’s always been our policy — don’t talk about it if you don’t want to. Funny though, Ashton’s usually the one saying it, not me._

 

“No, it’s fine,” Ashton sighs, brushing back a stray curl. “I mean, you were gonna find out at some point, and it’s gonna suck to talk about anyway, so why not get it over with?” I freeze, vanilla soft serve dripping down my fingers and onto the sand. _Am I about to find out Ashton’s mother is a serial killer or something?_

 

“My dad, he, um… He’s not exactly around,” Ashton mutters, staring at the sea. “He left when Mum was still pregnant with Harry. I was twelve, Lauren was maybe five. We had no idea it was coming; Dad just said he was going for a business trip and never came back. No child support, no anything. We can’t even track him down.”

 

I brush Ashton’s arm gently, murmuring soft words of support, but Ashton continues with his story, sounding more determined now. “Mum had to go back to work right after Harry was born, get a job and do what my dad wouldn’t, so I looked after my siblings. I was there when Harry learned how to walk, I taught him how to read, and I protected Lauren from the people at school who didn’t see how special she was.” Ashton’s voice is thick, and my chest tightens with worry for him. I’ve never seen Ashton cry.

 

“So, I don’t really have a dad anymore,” Ashton says tightly, wiping at something in his eye. “I raised those kids, because he didn’t care enough to do it himself. And you know what? I’m fucking glad he wasn’t there for them, because he would’ve been a shit dad anyway. He wouldn’t have gone into school and yelled at Lauren’s bullies, ya know?” Ashton laughs, but it rings hollow in my ears.

 

“You’re really brave, Ash,” I whisper, squeezing his hand when he turns to meet my eyes. “Not many people could have done what you did. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone strong in the ways that you are.” 

 

Ashton’s face breaks into a soft smile. “Thank you, Luke,” he says quietly. “You have no idea how happy you’ve just made me. You’re the first person to actually acknowledge what I did, instead of trying to apologize for my dad not being there.” My heart swells at Ashton’s words, and I force myself to calm down. _No matter how happy you are about him saying that, it’s not going to matter come tomorrow, because you can’t have anything with Ashton. You’re_ friends _, just friends, Luke._

 

The quiet peace between us is shattered abruptly when Ashton’s phone goes off. He looks down at it, eyes scanning the screen hurriedly as a deep frown emerges on his features. “I’m sorry, Luke, but I’ve got to go,” Ashton says quickly, standing and helping me up. “There’s been an emergency and I have to leave as soon as possible. I feel like an asshole for doing this, but could you get someone to give you a ride home? If I don’t get there in time, who knows what’ll happen…” Ashton trails off, eyes heavy with anxiety, and I’m not about to stop him from going somewhere he needs to be.

 

“Go, Ashton,” I insist, folding up his towel and handing it to him. “I’ll get a ride from Mikey. You need to go take care of your emergency.” 

The gratitude on Ashton’s face speaks volumes as he waves me goodbye and hurries to his car. I only wish this afternoon could have lasted longer as Ashton departs, and I’m left standing there with a melting ice cream cone and fantasies about a potential reality that will never survive in my world.

 

∞

Michael’s at the boardwalk in minutes, no questions asked, and whisks me away to an impromptu pre-practice study session at her house, far away from any thoughts of Ashton, vanilla ice cream and the dimmed sunshine in a pair of hazel eyes. I’m poring over a chemistry textbook when Michael announces she’s called an emergency band meeting.

 

“For what?” I ask, looking up from my cozy spot on the bed. Michael’s perched on a spinning office chair, which she’s been using for the past half-hour, not to read over her notes, but to complete an endless cycle of 360s that have left her green in the face.

 

“Oh, a few changes,” Michael says, waving her hand dismissively. “Nothing huge. But I do wonder if Ashton will be able to come.” 

 

“Who knows,” I mutter, looking back at the book. Michael senses the change in my attitude, and hops up, sashaying over to slam my textbook closed and giving me a paper cut in the process.

 

“Ow, Michael, what the fuck,” I hiss, clutching my bleeding thumb.

 

“Let’s go grab some sodas for the boys,” Michael suggests cheerfully. “We’ve only got ten minutes before the meeting anyway. Calum should be showing up soon, and, knowing him, he’ll be thirsty — always is at this time of day.”

 

We end up rifling through the fridge, arguing over how many sodas we should pull out. Michael thinks that we should bring out four, just in case Ashton does show up, but I’m in favor of three sodas — why waste the extra? Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “Let me just fucking text him and solve this whole stupid issue,” I sigh, pulling my phone out of my pocket and composing a message. 

 

** Luke Hemmings **

** 5:05 PM **

** hey. hope everything turned out okay with your emergency. just wondering if you’re coming to michael’s “emergency band meeting” — wanna know how many refreshments we’ll need. thanks **

 

Almost immediately, my phone buzzes with a response, and Michael grins triumphantly.

 

** Ashton Irwin **

** 5:05 PM **

** heyyy yeah everything’s fine. harry just broke his arm @ school 2day & i had to be there at the hospital b/c mum was at work. i’ll be there in ten mins c ya soon. xx **

 

“He’ll be here in ten minutes,” I tell Michael, grabbing another soda from the fridge. 

 

∞

Come 5:15 PM, everyone’s arranged around the coffee table in Michael’s basement. At Mikey’s insistence, we’re sitting in a circle, with Ashton on the couch and Calum and myself in chairs. Michael’s standing, pacing around like she’s not sure what to say — but that seems to be a foreign concept for Michael. She always has _something_ to say, even if it’s not the right thing. However, there’s tension in the air that I don’t like, and as I look at Calum, I wonder if he knows something that I don’t — Cal is clutching his Coke like it’s a life preserver and he’s drowning in water I can’t see. 

 

“Okay,” Michael exhales, stopping in front of the couch. “First of all, we need to clarify something — all of us here want this band to be serious, right?” We all nod, confused by Michael’s seeming uncertainty of our dedication. “Good. Here’s the thing — in order to become a serious band, we have to get gigs, but in order to get gigs, we have to be at least _halfway_ decent. Right now, I don’t think we could even schedule a show at a kindergartener’s birthday party.” 

 

Calum winces at Michael’s harsh words, and she takes that as her cue to walk over and stand in front of him.

 

“So, this means we need to practice more. We’ll be practicing every day but Sundays,” Michael informs us. “I’ll give out the new schedules at the end of practice today. Now, my estimation is that after about three or four months of serious practice, we _may_ be able to book a gig at Sydney’s cheapest, seediest club.” 

 

Ashton raises his eyebrows. _When did Michael become so…_ serious? 

 

“Additionally,” Michael continues, “while in the process of deciding what would make this band more serious and overall a better band, I’ve reflected on each member’s respective role, and I have realized that these roles need to change — because right now, we’re more like the Island of Misfit Toys, not a band.” 

 

We’re all shocked, and Calum grips his Coke even tighter, while Ashton drums his fingers nervously on the coffee table, forming a rhythm of anxiety.

 

“Don’t worry, Ashton,” Michael reassures him, “you’ll still be on drums, and Calum, you’ll still be a bassist. Our instruments will remain essentially the same. It’s the vocals that need a serious overhaul.” Calum, Ashton and I exchange a puzzled look — I’m not sure we’re all on the same page as Michael.

 

Michael turns to face me. “Luke. Do you remember that time in Year 10 when I caught you and Calum singing I Miss You on the way to the bus?” Michael chuckles at the memory. “You two were the loudest idiots at Norwest, but you’re also incredible singers. Calum, your voice is unique — it’s unlike any I’ve ever heard. And Luke, you’re a master at vocal techniques, and you hit notes that I could only dream of.” I smile at Michael’s kind words. It’s nice to know that she admires my voice, but I’m unsure of the compliment’s relevancy to the band. 

 

“So.” Michael’s tone becomes serious again. “I’ve decided that Luke should become our lead singer, with Calum and me as backup vocalists. I’ll switch to main guitarist — basically changing roles with Luke — and Calum and Ashton will stay with their original instruments. Ashton, you’ll stick to singing choruses and the occasional verse, just like you asked.” 

 

My jaw’s on the floor, though Calum and Ashton look pleasantly surprised. “Michael, I’m an awful singer,” I protest. “Why did you feel things needed to change, anyway?”

 

Michael responds with a sly smirk. “Some things are meant to be kept secret,” she says. 

 

Calum rolls his eyes playfully. “Sounds good,” he grins. Ashton smiles in approval, so I’m the only one who doesn’t like Michael’s changes. I stare at her icily for a few moments, hoping it’ll wear her down, but I should know better — Michael will stand her ground and win or die trying. I’m forced to relent when Michael gives me one of her world-famous pouts, the kind that could bring any boy in Sydney to their knees.

 

Satisfied with our compliance, Michael claps her hands together eagerly. “Great! Now, did anyone come up with a name for our band? I gave you a week to think it over,” she reminds us. Ashton and I glance at each other, both of us knowing I’m far too nervous to shout out my suggestion.

 

“Luke came up with a name,” Ashton pipes up.

 

“Oh, really?” Michael raises an eyebrow. “Cool. What is it, Luke?” 

 

“5 Seconds of Summer,” I mutter, pulling my knees to my chest. I tongue my lip ring anxiously (a nervous habit) when Michael’s silent for a minute. _Oh god, she won’t like the name, of course she doesn’t like the name, it’s the worst band name she’s ever heard, oh my god why did I even bother —_

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Michael says slowly, a smile spreading across her face, “we have a band.” 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a really short chapter, just including some necessary rising action. things will get, um, interesting in the next chapter. thank you for reading!

Fourteen

_We’re not friends, nor have we ever been_

_We just try to keep those secrets in a lie_

_-Friends_

As the months go by, practice becomes more and more intense as we feel the pressure of trying to get a gig in a city of struggling musicians. My mother worries that I’m overworking myself, what with juggling schoolwork and consistent band practices, but I’ve managed to convince her that I’m fine — which I honestly am, because thanks to Ashton, I’ve been clean for two months. Right after the band got serious, he’d told me that he wasn’t one of those guys trying to romanticize self-harm by viewing me as a damsel-in-distress, and he as the shining knight in armor; rather, he promised he would help me fix myself, not try to do it for me. I’ve tried to keep things light and playful between us, but Ashton and I attract each other like magnets, and the line between “friends” and “more than friends” becomes very blurred for us. I tell myself I’m only allowing it because our great chemistry will look good on stage, but inside, I know it’s something more than that. Meanwhile, Michael’s attempted to get us gigs multiple times, but to no avail — no one wants to listen to a bunch of teenage punks — until finally, one day in March, Michael sends out a celebratory text message announcing we’ve booked our first gig. 

 

The details are sketchy, but according to Michael, a friend owed her a favor, and that friend happened to work at one of Sydney’s seediest clubs. All it took was a little pouting on Michael’s part, and we had our first performance, just like Michael had predicted back in December. I try not to worry too much that this friend may be a drug addict, though Michael assures me otherwise. 

 

The gig sneaks up on me, and before I know it, I’m at the club, waiting backstage with Mikey, Calum and Ashton. Guitar in one hand, bottle of water in the other, I hear our name being called, and everything turns into a blur of adrenaline, a rush of singing and playing and smiling till I think my face will crack open. When it’s all said and done, as I walk off that stage, listening to the dying noise of the crowd that had cheered for us, I know that this is what I want to do with my life. With that little bit of talent the world’s given to me, I know I’m going to fight tooth and nail to make it big, make it out of here, and make it to America — just like Michael and I had always dreamed.

 

After our successful show, Michael declares drinks are on her, but with one look at the rotten state of the club, we decide our vices are better purchased from a liquor store. We arrive at Michael’s empty house (her parents are away on a weekend trip to see the grandparents) with a plastic bag full of illegal fun. Set up in the basement with pizza, Michael’s Xbox and some red solo cups, Calum is the first to suggest a game.

 

“Sure, but what kind of game?” I ask, wincing as the burn of vodka slides down my throat.

 

“Never Have I Ever,” Calum giggles, clearly already tipsy.

 

“That’s so childish,” Michael says dismissively. “Why can’t we play something more… adult? I like a little more spice in my games.”

 

“No, let’s play Never Have I Ever,” Ashton insists, eyes lit up like New Year’s Eve fireworks. Michael sighs in defeat and turns to her Xbox, ignoring us while we play.

 

Ten minutes later, Ashton still has most of his fingers, while Calum and I are pretty close to being out. Still, Ashton’s clearly a lightweight, as he’s red in the face from only a few sips of his drink. Now it’s Ashton’s turn. He thinks for a few moments before staring directly at me and saying, “Never have I ever been in love with my best friend.”

 

Ashton takes a swig of his beer. 

 

I’m frozen to my spot, knuckles white around my own beer. Calum’s laughing, saying, “Wow, Ashton, you must be really knackered to say something you’ve already done,” but I can’t hear anything, heart pounding in my ears. _What is Ashton saying? Is he in love with me? Is he in love with someone else? Was he in love with a best friend in the past? If he was, then why would he look at me like that? And why does he look so goddamn_ hurt _that I didn’t drink?_ It’s true — Ashton’s eyes are like that of a kicked puppy’s, and I wish I was anywhere else but here right now. Calum’s stopped laughing, sensing the tension in the air.

 

“I’ll go next,” Calum offers, trying to melt the ice that’s developed between Ashton and me. “Never have I ever TP’d someone’s house.” I roll my eyes at how lame that is, but take a swig. Ashton does, too, and Michael turns from her Xbox to take a drink. “Remember how I’d wait in the car while you and Michael went to go TP the houses?” Calum asks, laughing so hard I worry about the state of his sides. 

 

“Yup,” I respond dryly. We continue with the game without another hitch, but when we all leave Mikey’s house the next morning, I fear I’m not the only one who can see the panic in my eyes, the panic that hasn’t left since Ashton’s drunken quasi-confession. 

 

But it’s okay, I tell myself. I’ll just go on like nothing ever happened.

 

I have to give myself credit — it does work for a little while.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that the Annandale Hotel is more of a pub in real life, but I decided to turn it into a fancy hotel for my story. thank you for reading!
> 
> Trigger Warning: self-harm

Fifteen

_You gave me all your love and all I gave you was “Goodbye”_

_-Back to December_

That sleazy March gig seems to be the kick-off for us, and suddenly 5 Seconds of Summer’s Facebook page is seeing double the hits. My Twitter followers increase exponentially, and Ashton finally makes his own Instagram, if only for “band-related purposes.” The cold comes and goes, fading into the warmth of November — the month that Michael calls us together for another “emergency band meeting.” 

 

“I swear to God, if she’s changing things again, I might lose it,” I joke with Calum, arranged in Michael’s basement just like last December. 

 

“Nah, I think we’re good,” Calum snorts, watching as Michael finishes her pacing and straightens up, all business.

 

“Guys,” Michael says excitedly, “we’ve got our first good gig.”

 

“Hell, I’d consider any gig a good gig,” Calum mutters. Michael shoots him a stony glare.

 

“It’s at the Annandale Hotel, right here in Sydney, on December 3rd,” Michael beams. I haven’t seen her this excited since she finally got her hair the perfect shade of crimson back in Year 10. “Thanks to Calum, who’s been a huge help and has assisted me in arranging this, we’ll be staying at the hotel the night before the gig and the night of the gig. It’s at 7:00 PM in the ballroom — some kind of rich rockers’ memorabilia auction, quite a few people there.” 

 

Calum grins unabashedly, clearly proud of his efforts. “Way to win some brownie points with Michael,” I whisper, elbowing him. Calum blushes bright red and thumps me on the shoulder.

 

Michael clears her throat, noticing our bad behavior. “Now, I wanted to remind you all that this could be our ticket to getting noticed,” Michael continues. “Not just our ticket to getting noticed, but our ticket to America — several important agents will be at the auction, and if we’re good enough, they’ll notice us. We’d better not fuck this up, guys. This could be our last chance at getting this band out of Australia and someplace better.” We’ve all gone quiet, faces solemn at the mere prospect of screwing up this chance. Michael’s right — this could be our last opportunity to get out of Sydney and do something with 5 Seconds of Summer.

 

“Got any less nerve-wracking news, Michael?” Ashton asks, drumming his fingers on his legs. Michael laughs, playfully flipping Ashton off, and perches on the edge of the sofa, resting an arm on Calum’s shoulder. The poor boy is as red as Ashton’s favorite bandana by now.

 

“Well, yes,” Michael says teasingly. “We have a radio interview this Saturday, 9 AM sharp. Be there or be square — square being code for ‘no longer a member of 5SOS.’” 

 

∞

I must spend at least an hour getting ready for the interview Saturday morning. I don’t know why I’m taking so long to primp — it’s not like anyone can see me other than the DJ and my bandmates. I chalk it up to a need to get on Michael’s good side, though truth be told, I’m sure it’s an inner desire to look my best for Ashton. Perhaps the primping also distracts me from my nerves, which are very frayed at the moment. The DJ who will be interviewing us today is notorious for mischievous pranks and flirtatious games that I’m praying won’t be included in our segment. The last thing I need is to embarrass myself in front of thousands of locals.

 

I’m silent the entire drive to the station — Michael’s unusually quiet, too, probably just as wracked with anxiety as I am. We park and hurry inside the building, Michael muttering something about the humidity ruining her makeup. The receptionist informs us that Ashton and Calum are already situated in the green room, and Michael curses under her breath, grumbling that they’re probably already drunk off a few beers. I don’t bother to remind her that it’s only eight-thirty in the morning — Michael will skin me alive if I irritate her today.

 

To Michael’s great relief, Ashton and Calum are reasonably sober in the green room, promising the redness in their faces is simply due to the intense heat outside. Carefully searching for any slurring in their words, Michael seems to accept this and moves on, taking on a businesslike tone and outlining the “rules” of the interview. She spends extra time on Ashton and myself — apparently Ashton _really_ needs to know not to badmouth Swallow the Goldfish, and I shouldn’t be too sullen with the interviewer. We’ve been through this rodeo a million times in the past year, but whenever Michael shows up to an interview, she seems to forget this, becoming a frazzled, harried Michael I’m not quite familiar with. 

 

After the fiftieth rule spat out by Michael, Calum’s finally had enough. “Okay, Michael,” he says, raising his hands in defeat. “We get it. But please stop freaking out. That’s not going to do anything except make us all more anxious.” 

 

Michael breathes deeply, running a hand through her hair, recently dyed a gorgeous plum ombré shade. “Okay,” she sighs, sinking into the chair next to Calum’s. I raise an eyebrow at Calum, surprised that he’s gotten Mikey to concede so easily. Then again, Calum kind of has that effect on her — he just _relaxes_ Michael. They’re a good pair, and I wonder how long Michael is going to keep Calum waiting. I know he’s developed that method of bringing home a different girl every night to cope with the silent rejection from Mikey, but this can’t go on for much longer — the sexual tension between them is undeniable. _Yes, and what would Michael say about you and Ashton?_ I shudder at the nasty little voice inside my head. That voice always pops up at the worst of times.

 

“5 Seconds of Summer?” a prim, proper voice calls as a tiny blonde woman steps into the room. She’s dressed in a neatly pressed button-down and a denim skirt that Michael would say is “so 2005” (like we were even old enough to keep up with the fashion trends in 2005) and is slender enough to spark tendrils of envy in my chest. _Stop_ , I tell myself. _She’s just as skinny as you, just more proportional maybe, but there’s nothing wrong with that, you’re both healthy._

 

“Yes,” Michael nods, eagerly jumping up from her seat. “When are we on?” 

 

“Right now, actually,” the woman smiles, guiding us into the studio, where our host is chattering behind a microphone about Coldplay’s latest album. The woman equips us with mikes and headphones as the show breaks for commercials, then quietly exits the room when we’re back on air. The host, a mischievous man who looks like an older, brunette Ashton, introduces us, Michael smirking when he says we’re Sydney’s “hottest up-and-coming pop punk band.” 

 

We start off with the typical question-and-answer session (although they did throw in a new fan question, asking about the kind of girl Calum likes; I’m not surprised when he says he loves all girls, but colored hair really gets him going) before our host announces we’ll be playing a game. “Ooh, fun,” Ashton grins, clapping his hands together. “What kind of game?” 

 

“Well, we figured since you guys are 5 Seconds of Summer, we’d pick a game typically played at summer parties,” the host explains, gesturing to the blond woman from earlier. She’s bringing in an empty bottle of sparkling water, and I groan internally, knowing what that probably means. “So, 5 Seconds of Summer, we’ll be playing Spin the Bottle today.” My stony face sets off alarm bells in Michael’s head, and she shoots me an admonitory glare, while Calum looks at me like he’s expecting _me_ to speak up and react to this.

 

I laugh nervously, fingering one of my bracelets. “I’ve never been too good at that game,” I joke. “Just what are the rules, Doug?” _I hope that’s his name, I can’t exactly remember._  

 

“No kissing me,” Doug shoots back, chuckling at his stupid reply. “But really, it’s simple, Luke. We have some questions about your bandmates for you to answer, and if you’re wrong, then you have to spin the bottle. Whoever it lands on, you have to kiss.” _Ohh, so_ that’s _why we had to send in four different facts about ourselves last week._

 

“But where?” Ashton questions, leaning forward in his seat. “Just where are we kissing each other,” he clarifies, smiling sheepishly about the implied naughtiness of his statement. 

 

“Well, that’s what this lovely little wheel is for, Ashton,” Doug cries excitedly, pulling out a brightly colored spinner divided into four sections, each labeled with a different body part — “Mouth,” “Forehead,” “Cheek,” “Butt.” 

 

“Butt?” Ashton shrieks, far too vibrant for this early in the morning. “I will _not_ kiss any of my bandmates on the butt!” he declares resolutely, crossing his arms in defiance. 

 

“That’s what you say now,” Doug teases. “Anyway, guys and girls, we’ll get this game set up during commercial break, and we’ll be back with you, Sydney, shortly!” Ads begin playing on air as Doug gets up and motions for us to do the same. The blonde assistant comes over and places tiny microphones on us, presumably mikes that will broadcast our surely entertaining audio to all of Sydney. Doug shuffles the deck of questions in his hands, looking awfully pleased with himself. “Ready to start, kids?” he asks as the last commercial plays. We all nod, Ashton bouncing on the balls of his feet like a little kid. 

 

Doug reintroduces us and explains to the listeners what we’ll be doing. Calum’s the first up, and Doug grins devilishly at the question he pulls out. “Calum, what is Luke’s favorite movie?” he reads. Calum reddens, scratching the back of his head in thought.

 

“Erm, I’m not quite sure,” Calum admits, “so, sorry, Luke, but I’m going to guess Mean Girls?” Calum waits patiently as Doug flips the card over and checks for the answer. “I remember we watched that one time and she really enjoyed it,” Calum adds.

 

Doug smiles. “Good memory, Calum,” he congratulates him, “because you’re right.” Calum whoops excitedly. “Now you get to pick who goes next,” Doug instructs.

 

Calum immediately chooses Michael, who incorrectly answers a question about Ashton’s favorite food (it’s spaghetti) and is forced to spin the bottle (not like she seems too disappointed about that). Like fate wants them to get together, the bottle lands on Calum, and when Michael spins the wheel, the spinner lands on “Cheek.” Coyly, Michael beckons Calum over with a come-hither gesture, and reaches up on her tiptoes to give him a saccharine kiss on the cheek. Calum blushes bright red and immediately looks down at the ground, while Ashton and Doug cheer loudly. I’m silent, imagining nightmare scenarios of my bottle landing on Calum and Michael strangling me with a guitar string. It doesn’t even cross my mind that I’ll have to go until I hear Michael calling my name, pulling me out of my thoughts.

 

“Your turn, Lukey,” Michael smirks. I roll my eyes when Doug’s not looking, before flashing a smile full of honey and sugar to our host. 

 

“I’m ready, Doug,” I say in a sing-song voice. Pleased with my enthusiasm, Doug laughs at the card he pulls out.

 

“Ooh, this is gonna be a tough one, Luke,” he taunts. “I hope you know your bandmates well.”

 

“Oh, I’m quite certain I know them like the back of my hand, Doug,” I respond, crossing my arms and tapping my foot impatiently.

 

“Alrighty,” laughs Doug. “Here’s your question, Luke — what was Michael’s first artificial hair color?” 

 

I bite my lip. That _is_ a tough question — with the number of times Michael’s dyed her hair, all the different colors tend to blend together, and it’s hard to establish a concrete timeline of hues. I guess anyway. “Green?” I offer.

 

Doug shakes his head. “Nope,” he says smugly. “Black. Spin the bottle, Luke.” Trying to muster up a half-hearted smile, I wrap my hand around the bottle and give it a good spin. As the bottle slows, I silently pray it won’t land on Calum — Michael will give me death glares for days if that happens. 

 

My prayers are answered, but my fate is even worse than the bottle landing on Calum. The bottle lands on Ashton.

 

Calum and Michael exchange a nervous glance before cheering loudly, pretending for Doug like this isn’t a disaster in the making. My fingers shake as I turn the spinner, and I can’t help but gasp when it stops on “Mouth.” 

 

Michael mutters a quiet “Fuck,” and Calum’s wide-eyed, staring at me like he’s the one about to be kissed. Doug is oblivious, teasing Ashton for the way he’s fidgeting in his place. I know I should act like I’m joking around, playfully complain about the kiss with Ashton, but all I can focus on is the cold, hard fear in the pit of my stomach. _What are you so scared of, Luke? Falling for him? I think you’ve already done that._ I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the voice in my head to shut up and let me be. It’s not the voice that responds to this, but Doug.

 

“Let’s go, Luke, pucker up!” Doug still thinks this is just a friendly game, something we’ll forget about once we leave the station, just a little something to bring up in conversation when we want to embarrass each other. Michael and Calum can sense the tension in the air, while Ashton’s on the verge of getting up and leaving, and I’m tempted to join him.

 

I shake my head. “No,” I say softly. “I’d rather not.” Michael’s eyes are burning a hole in my head, but I ignore her.

 

“Aww, c’mon, Luke, doesn’t have to be a French kiss, just a little peck on the lips,” Doug urges. 

 

“ _No_ ,” I insist, firmer now. Ashton pales, while Michael’s practically purple with rage.

 

“You’re no fun, Lukey, not even a—” Doug starts.

 

Michael cuts him off. “It’s alright, Doug, I’ll substitute for her,” she says sweetly, walking over to Ashton. She gives him a quick kiss on the lips, giggling at Ashton’s flustered expression, and skips back to her place next to Calum, glaring at me the whole way. “Guess Lukey’s feeling a little _frigid_ today,” Michael simpers, shooting daggers from her eyes. Doug laughs awkwardly, finally picking up on our strained expressions, and allows Calum to have one more turn before ending the game. Interview complete, we thank Doug and his assistant and hurry into the parking lot. I barrel past Ashton and Calum, speed-walking to Michael’s car, and I’ve just pulled on the handle of the car door when I realize it’s locked.

 

“Michael, let me in,” I call over my shoulder, spotting the purple-haired girl a few feet away. She shakes her head, stopping a few inches away from me. We’re face to face, noses practically touching.

 

“That was _utter fuckery_ , Luke,” Michael growls, breath cold on my face— she tends to suck down dozens of mints during interviews. This time, it may just be a reflection of the current state of her heart. I take a step back, already sensing where this conversation will lead.

 

“I mean, what were you _thinking_?” Michael continues, stepping into my space once again. “Listen, Luke, I get that you and Ashton have that awkward ‘let’s-pretend-we’re-not-more-than-friends-even-though-we-totally-want-to-be’ thing going on, but that shit needs to be left at home. When it comes down to the band, I don’t give a flying fuck about your personal feelings.” I cringe at Michael’s harsh words, but she doesn’t even notice how uncomfortable I’ve become — or worse, just disregards it.

 

“Do you know how that made us look, Luke?” Michael spits. “ _Do you_? I really don’t think you do know. Well, I’ll tell you — it made us look like entitled, ungrateful, _spoiled little brats_!” Michael’s shouting now, words echoing across the parking lot. I can see Ashton and Calum stop in their tracks a few spots down, clearly unsure of whether to break up the argument or let Michael have her little lecture. _Better you than them, that’s what they’re thinking_ , the voice taunts. I shut it down with a shrug, but Michael seems to think it’s directed at her.

 

“Oh, you don’t care, huh, Luke?” Michael hisses. “Well, that’s great. In fact, if you _don’t care_ so much, why don’t you go get a ride with Ashton?” When I don’t move, simply standing there in shock, Michael raises her voice again. “Well, c’mon, _go_! CALUM, c’mere, you and Luke are switching!” Tears pool in my eyes, and I storm off, stopping when I see the blurry outline of Ashton’s sedan. I can barely see where I’m going, and Ashton seems to know this, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and guiding me into the passenger’s seat.

 

Ashton starts the car and peels out of the parking lot, sensing my need to escape from this catastrophe. I blink away my tears, roughly swiping at my face when a few stray drops escape. Ashton’s silent, the low roar of the engine speaking for him. My eyes clear now, the hurt expression on his face is obvious, and it has a worse effect on me than Michael’s harsh words could ever produce. The pain dulling that beautiful hazel hits me like a punch to the gut, and I double over with silent sobs, shoulders shaking. _You’re an awful person, you bitch, how could you ever do that to such a lovely boy, you don’t deserve to breathe the same air as him. You don’t even deserve to breathe at all._

 

Ashton doesn’t notice, and my crying jag is over quickly, as I compose myself with a few wipes of my sleeve and a deep breath. I’m quiet the rest of the ride, readying myself for a quick goodbye. When we pull up to my house, I’ve already got my fingers wrapped around the door handle, but Ashton stops me with a light hand on my back. “Can we talk for a second?” he asks softly. I don’t dare to respond with anything but a mute nod.

 

“Okay,” Ashton says shakily, taking a breath to steady himself. He’s more anxious than I’ve ever seen him, running a hand through messy curls like he’s trying to anchor himself to something that isn’t me or this crappy car. “Sorry,” he apologizes, laughing at himself a little. 

 

“Ashton, I don’t have all day,” I say, sharper than I intended to. Surprise flashes across Ashton’s features, before he shakes his head.

 

“Yeah, of course. Sorry,” he responds sheepishly. It’s started to rain outside, fat, dark clouds pouring water onto dry Sydney streets. The sky is crying, though judging by Ashton’s nervous glances, I have a feeling I’ll be crying along with it pretty soon.

 

“So.” Ashton’s picking at a thread on his shirt, barely making eye contact. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way — I mean, you kind of made that abundantly clear during Spin the Bottle — but I really like you, Luke, and I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me.” He says it all in a rush, in one singular breath, like if he says it any slower, it’ll be a toxic poison that seeps into his system and eats away at his heart. _But really, love_ is _a toxic poison of sorts, isn’t it?_

 

I used to be okay with love, that toxic poison, back when I had an antidote for it. But Alex stole my antidote when he left, and Mikey and Calum were left to soak up the damage. I don’t think I can handle being poisoned again. 

 

“No,” I say quietly. Ashton inhales sharply, rocking back a little in his seat, before nodding quickly.

 

“Okay,” he says, voice wavering. “I totally understand that, it’s your right to say no. But could you just tell me why?” 

 

“What?” I jerk up abruptly at that. “Why do you care about that, Ashton?”

 

“Because I want to know where I went wrong.” Ashton’s voice is sad, and every inch of my skin goes cold. _It wasn’t supposed to be this way._ “Just tell me what mistake I made. Give me that, and I’ll never bring this up again, and we can go on pretending that nothing ever happened.” _Pretending… My whole life with you is fucking pretending._

 

I snap.

 

“Do you know why I can’t date you, Ashton?” I hiss through tears. “Because I don’t trust you! I haven’t trusted anyone since Alex, and I _can’t_!” My voice cracks, and I can’t focus on anything but the ball of anger threatening to burst out of my chest. 

 

“Why can’t you trust me, Luke?” Ashton’s voice is steadily rising, though I can see the struggle in his face to keep as quiet as possible. “After all we’ve been through together? What did I do to lose your trust?”

 

“You never _had it_ , Ashton!” 

 

“Why?” Ashton’s voice is thick. 

 

_Because you’re a man, and I can’t trust you, because you’ll hurt me just like Alex, because I’ll inevitably fuck it up and lose you, because—_ “Because you’re _you_!” I shout out. Ashton recoils like I’ve shot him, and I immediately realize what I’ve done, how my words came out all wrong when I was just trying to say I didn't trust him because of my past experiences with men. I stumble over my words, trying to apologize, but Ashton won’t hear it.

 

“Get out,” he says through gritted teeth, unlocking the door.

 

“No, Ashton, please, wait, I’m so sorry—” I try.

 

“ _Get out_!” Ashton yells, thunder booming in sync with the pained shout. I’m out of the car in a flash, standing there and sobbing as the rain soaks me to the bone, while Ashton speeds off like I’m a hitchhiker and he’s just dropping me off at my destination.  I’m chilled down to my very core, shaking as lightning flashes nearby, a bright reminder of the even brighter boy I’ve just managed to lose in the blink of an eye.

 

_I’m so cold._ I don’t know how long I’m out there before my teeth begin to chatter, and my legs start the automatic walk into my house. 

 

_I’m so cold._ My mother’s not home, no one there to stop me as I enter my bathroom.

 

_I’m so cold._ The blade doesn’t even hurt.

 

_I’m so cold._ I don’t even cry as I throw away the bloody tissues.

 

_I’m so cold._ And no one’s here to thaw me out.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading.
> 
> Trigger Warning: self-harm.

Sixteen

_I feel this cold inside me_

_It howls away all through the market_

_It calls your name_

_-Apartment_

Michael knows something’s wrong when I show up to practice that afternoon in a long-sleeved shirt. “Really, Luke?” she sighs, irritation showing in her voice. “It’s thirty degrees out.” 

 

“I was cold,” I respond, memories of the argument with Ashton still flashing through my head. I tried to text him a million times, but all I got back was a harsh, _Please stop texting me or I’ll have to block your number_. It’s only been a few hours, and it's like Ashton’s already completely cut me off. He’s sitting in the corner, joking around with Calum as he does his pre-practice stretches.

 

“Bullshit,” Michael says, eyes narrowing. It’s like she knows, because her hand shoots out to grab my hand and turn my palm to face the ceiling. I wince as Michael’s fingers make quick work of rolling up my shirt sleeve. Michael reels back on her feet at the harsh, angry lines that confront her.

 

“I thought you stopped,” Michael whispers quietly, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Luke, I shouldn’t have been so mean earlier, why didn’t you call me—”

 

“It’s not you, Mikey,” I interrupt, shaking my head at her. “It’s Ashton.” Michael glances over at the boys on the other side of the room, oblivious to our conversation.

 

“What the fuck did he—” I slap a hand over Michael’s mouth; she’s getting loud.  

 

“Shh,” I hiss. “Stay quiet. I don’t want Calum or Ashton to know.” I pull my hand away and work on tugging my sleeve back down.

 

“What did he do?” Michael lowers her voice. “Did he get mad at you because of Spin the Bottle?” 

 

“It’s not worth talking about,” I say smoothly. I pick up my guitar and start to test the strings. Michael’s silent, her face showing her struggle between confronting Ashton and obeying my wishes.

 

“Okay, fine,” Michael says after a few moments, raising her hands in defeat. “But if this little argument spirals out of control too much, it could ruin our dynamic — so you’d better be careful.” I watch as Michael saunters away, wondering exactly how I managed to fuck up my life in the span of seven short hours.

 

∞

I keep telling myself that Ashton will get over it eventually, that one day all my stupid apologies will click in his head and he’ll finally send me that reconciliatory text I’ve been hoping for. But that text never comes, and I watch over the next month as Ashton’s name slowly falls to the bottom of my messages list. It’s depressing to see, and the utter silence from Ashton takes its toll on me. Everyone can see it — when Jack and Ben come home from university, even they ask if I’m okay. And now I’m no longer hurting myself for control or to feel good at something, I’m hurting just to feel anything other than this frozen emptiness inside of me. Because I miss Ashton, more than I’d ever dreamed I would.

 

I miss his giggles, his tousled curls, his bandana, his dimples — oh, those fucking _dimples_. I miss his stupid drumming face and the way he’d always bang his drums a little harder just to make me laugh, even if it meant he broke a drumstick or two every once in a while. I miss the daily “how are you”s, the supportive messages when it’s twelve am and I’ve hit a low, the cute little videos from Harry and Lauren he’d send me during babysitting duty.

 

I miss him. And worst of all, he knows it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been too long! so sorry for the delay. i've been busy with school and just haven't had the time to update. but here's chapter seventeen, and i have to say, i'm particularly proud of this one (not quite sure why though haha). thanks for sticking with me and continuing to read :) things get interesting in this chapter! my lovely beta reader T hasn't had the chance to edit this chapter yet, but i was so eager to post that i figured i'd go ahead, and i'll change things as necessary after T sends me her edits.  
> Trigger Warnings: mentions of self-harm; underage drinking

Seventeen

_We can fight our desires_

_But when we start making fires_

_We get ever so hot_

_Whether we like it or not_

_-In for the Kill_

December 2nd, the day before our very first “real world” gig, arrives, and it’s already going awfully. Sure, it turns out that Calum booked us some of the nicest rooms at the Annandale Hotel, but the group car ride there is miserable. Calum’s driving with an employee from the hotel in a separate van carrying our guitars, his bass, and Ashton’s drum kit, so it’s just me, Michael and Ashton in Ashton’s crappy sedan. Ashton’s stony and silent, his new norm when he’s around me, and though Michael tries to lighten up with the mood with some bad puns, it doesn’t work, and I end up blasting some Green Day through my earbuds just to get through it.

 

My hotel room does make it kind of worth it, though. It’s huge, with freshly polished wood floors and the coziest bed this side of Australia, along with a fully stocked minibar that I definitely intend to take advantage of. The furniture is obviously expensive, though apparently torn between imitating pieces from Louis XIV’s era and a more modern style. The view is breathtaking — I can see the Sydney Opera House in the distance, and the water is sparkling in the evening moonlight. I draw my curtains shut and sigh contentedly, collapsing onto the bed for a nap. I figure I’ll order room service when I wake up, watch some Netflix on my phone and then get some shut-eye. No blades allowed — Michael searched my luggage before we left, and though I could’ve hid some if I really wanted to, it wasn’t worth the extra effort. It’s only one night, and if I just stay in my room and avoid Ashton for as long as humanly possible, I think I’ll be okay. 

 

I’m only just drifting off into sleep when there’s a knock on my door. Groggy and reluctant to get up, I pull the covers tighter around me, shivering as a blast of cold air conditioning hits me. My plan would’ve worked if the person on the other side of the door was less persistent — after five additional minutes of relentless pounding, I hear the click of a key card, and a very angry pair of heels storms into my hotel room. The opening chords of “American Idiot” blast by my left ear, and I groan, throwing off the covers. “Still using the same tactics, I see,” I say, rolling my eyes at my uninvited guests — a very provocatively dressed Michael, and a clearly uncomfortable Calum, both wearing what could only be described as “clubbing attire.” Calum’s the more casual of the pair, clad in a muscle tank and ripped black skinny jeans similar to mine, whereas Michael’s gold bandage dress is short enough to be the probable cause of Calum’s red face.

 

“Yes,” Michael smirks, “because this way always works so well.” She hits pause on the music and opens her black clutch, throwing in her phone. “Get dressed. We’re going clubbing.” 

 

I laugh sharply. “Very funny,” I hiss, “but I’d like to get back to bed now. I have a date with the TV tonight and I’d rather not miss it.” Michael throws the covers to the ground and pulls me out of bed, pushing me into a chair while she sorts through my luggage for a suitable outfit. Calum’s doubled over with laughter, finding the situation far more humorous than I do.

 

“God, Luke,” Michael groans, running a hand through perfectly curled hair, “you don’t have _anything_ nice to wear, do you?” 

 

“Oh, please,” I scoff from the chair. “I don’t think that’s the issue here. We obviously have different opinions on the definition of ‘nice.’” 

 

Michael kneels by the chair so we’re face-to-face, her bright green eyes burning into my faded blue. “Luke,” she coos, “c’mon. We have a huge gig tomorrow, and you’re sitting here in a slump. You’ve _got_ to find some energy somewhere, or we’re gonna suck tomorrow.” My resistance is weakening, and Michael can tell; she knows if it involves the band’s future, I’ll likely give in.

 

“Besides,” she adds with a wink, “if you get too hungover, it’s nothing a few of the Annandale’s famous Bloody Marys won’t fix.” Michael’s so earnest, so determined to make me happy — I can see it in her face. I take one look at my phone and decide that a night out with my two best friends is a lot less lonely than a night spent with Netflix and pizza. 

 

“Fine,” I relent, “but I don’t have anything to wear, as you so kindly pointed out.” Michael muses over this fact for a moment before a light bulb switches on in her head, and she grins at me excitedly.

 

“You can wear one of my dresses!” Michael squeals, pulling me out of the room and into the hallway before I can resist. The next few minutes fly by as Michael shoves us into her room, locks the door (probably so Calum can’t sneak a peek), and tears through her luggage to find the perfect dress. She settles on a gray bandage dress, similar to hers but with below-the-shoulder straps that display my collarbone — one of Michael’s favorite parts on me, for some reason. After Michael does some emergency tousling and mousse-spritzing with my hair (and adds about 50 pounds of smoky eyeliner), she has me look in the mirror. I have to admit, the charcoal shade makes my eyes pop, and Michael’s makeup skills definitely make me more presentable. After forcing on some 4-inch heels (Michael tried to go with 5-inch platforms, but we both knew that wouldn’t end well), I stumble out into the hallway, deemed ready for a night of clubbing with Sydney’s craziest partiers. 

 

“You look great, Luke,” Calum compliments me, but he still can’t tear away his eyes from Michael, dazzling in her golden ensemble. “Mikey, have we invited Ashton yet?” My blood runs cold, and as she walks over to his door, I silently pray that the drummer will reject Michael’s invitation. 

 

Ashton answers after two knocks. “Hi, Michael,” he grumbles, obviously exhausted. “What’s up?” 

 

“We were just wondering if you wanted to go clubbing with us,” Michael replies, gesturing to Calum and me in the hallway. Ashton glances over at me, face turning sour. 

 

“I think I’ll pass for tonight,” he mumbles before shutting the door in Mikey’s face. Michael’s jaw drops, and she’s about to knock on Ashton’s door again and curse him out when Calum walks over, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

 

“Give him a rest for tonight, Michael,” Calum murmurs in her ear. Michael’s shoulders, raised high with anger, relax instantly at his touch. She nods dejectedly, allowing herself to be upset for a few moments before replacing her frown with a huge smile. 

 

“No problem,” Michael says, surprisingly upbeat considering Ashton’s bad mood. “Let’s have some fun tonight, guys!” 

 

∞

Clubbing with Mikey and Calum is actually a lot more fun than I’d expected. The dark pulsing of the music, the burn of alcohol in my throat, the mindless dancing with strangers — it all contributes to a feeling of a false reality. It’s like I’m enjoying a fantasy, and sure, maybe when it’s all over I’ll go back to the hotel and become that ugly, awkward Amazon everyone knows and hates, but for now, I’m unexpected beauty. In this club, I’m a flash of a pretty mystery in most people’s eyes, and I didn’t expect to enjoy it this much, but I do. Now I understand why Cal and Mikey enjoy this so much — you have permission to be anonymous, have the time of your life, maybe fuck things up a little, but then you go home and wake up the next morning as yourself.

 

After the harsh encounter with Ashton at the hotel, I have no problem downing five shots of tequila and a Cosmopolitan. Michael encourages me to do body shots with her, but that’s a little much for my taste, even in my wasted state. While Calum flirts in the corner and Mikey appeases her crowd of suitors, I head for the dance floor. It’s a writhing mass of bodies that I struggle to fit into, and though this task would normally daunt a sober Luke, when the world is spinning around me, I’m not scared at all. 

 

I’ve just settled into the rhythm of the music when a pair of hands settles on my hips. Someone’s dancing behind me, and when I turn to ask for some space, I spot a flash of auburn hair and green eyes. Chest tightening, I wrench myself away from the stranger, mind racing a thousand miles a minute. _It’s okay, it’s not Alex, you don’t even know this guy. Stop freaking out, stop it, stop it, stop—_

 

“What’s wrong, don’t like dancing?” the stranger purrs. His voice is deeper than Alex’s, and I let out a sigh of relief. “How about I buy you a drink, princess?” I freeze in my place. _Alex used to call me princess. “Princess, please, you’ve been teasing me all night… Why the fuck not, Princess? You goin’ frigid on me or somethin’?”_ My blood runs cold, head pounding with painful memories of Alex’s words.

 

“Um, m-maybe not tonight,” I stammer, stumbling backwards. I trip over someone’s foot in the process, causing me to crash to the ground in an embarrassing mess of spandex and stilettos. The stranger hovers over me, eyes a familiar shade of cold, and I’m up and running before anyone can ask if I’m okay. I slow down when I reach the bar, panting heavily (sprinting in heels is not an easy feat). I tear through my clutch, searching for any semblance of money for a taxi, before I spot Michael’s glimmering black clutch, abandoned by its owner. I only hesitate for a moment before I’m grabbing ten bucks out of her bag, mentally apologizing for my misdeed. _Sorry, Mikey, I’ll pay you back later._

 

Tears burn in the corners of my eyes as I hail the cab, cursing myself for ever thinking it was a good idea to come here. _Your friends should know not to bring you anywhere fun_ , the nasty voice whispers. _You always ruin a good time. No wonder Alex got sick of being with you… You’re not worth it._ Harsh words ring in my mind the entire ride back to the hotel, drowning out my surroundings to the point where I don’t even realize I’m back in my hotel room until my overheated skin meets the cool cotton sheets. 

 

Chest numb, body on autopilot, I slip out of my dress and splash water on my face before collapsing back on my bed. I’m shivering uncontrollably, a nasty side effect of an awful combination of too much alcohol and a heavy dose of fear. The clock on my nightstand only reads 11:20 when my eyelids drift shut, and I finally spiral into a restless sleep.

 

∞

Though I desperately need sleep if I’m going to be halfway decent at tomorrow night’s show, the world around me has other plans. It’s five minutes past twelve when a harsh, relentless series of knocking cruelly rips me from my dreams (or lack thereof). Thanks to the little bit of rest I’ve managed to get, I’ve sobered up to the point of rational thought, though my head still pounds with unshed tears. It takes a few more insistent knocks to convince me to get out of bed and answer the door. 

 

Maybe I’m still not completely sober, because in my haste to stop the pounding on my door, I didn’t bother to look through the peephole, and now Ashton Irwin’s standing in front of me, looking ridiculously flawless for twelve in the morning.

 

Fuck.

 

“Hey,” Ashton breathes out, rubbing at the back of his head with one hand, the other tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh. 

 

I can’t help myself. This is the first time Ashton’s talked to me in a month. “Hey,” I whisper, voice rough-edged with grogginess. Ashton smiles softly, before doing a double take at my attire that makes me realize I’m still wearing my bra and panties from the club.

 

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” Ashton stammers. I let out an awkward laugh, wrapping my arms around myself to cover the skimpiest parts of my sleepwear, and Ashton’s face flushes. “Sorry, stupid question,” he mutters, staring down at his beat-up Converse. 

 

“I mean, yeah, I was kind of asleep, but we need to talk anyway, so…” I trail off, mind going a thousand miles a minute. _Ashton’s here, at my door, at twelve in the morning, looking like he doesn’t want to rip my head off. This is my chance._ “Wanna come in?” I offer, nudging the door open wider with my foot.

 

Ashton’s silent for a few moments, and my heart pounds in my chest, slamming against my ribcage so roughly I worry it might explode. His eyes still trained on the floor, Ashton doesn’t respond, simply strides past me and into the hotel room, taking careful measures not to brush against me. Hurt flares briefly in my chest, but I close the door behind us anyway, hesitation causing me to remain standing in the doorway. Ashton paces the room, giving me the sense that this is going to be a long conversation, and I take the opportunity to perch on the edge of my bed.

 

After five minutes of silent pacing, Ashton finally stills, stopping a few feet away from the bed to look at me. Gone is all the awkwardness and uncertainty of the hallway; it’s been replaced by anger, pure fury burning in those beautiful hazel eyes — though Ashton’s rage can’t disguise the palpable hurt on his features. I know he hates that — it’s obvious from his body language, the way his knuckles stand out white against folded arms, the dilated pupils. 

 

I hate that I made him feel this way. It’s my fault, hurting him with stupid words I should’ve kept to myself, stupid things I shouldn’t have thought in the first place. Then again, maybe it’s for the best. I don’t deserve Ashton; he deserves someone who can give him the world, maybe the fucking universe even, and all I can give him is a crappy chord on a guitar and a meaningless story about some scars.

 

“What is it about me that screams ‘untrustworthy,’ hm?” Ashton says, voice low and husky. I’d be lying if I said the way he advances a little closer with each word didn’t turn me on.

 

“What is wrong with me, Luke, that makes it so _impossible_ for you to trust me?” I’m trembling now, but I’m hit with a bolt of confusion when I realize it’s not fear causing this reaction.

 

“You can’t trust me because I’m me, huh?” Ashton spits, voice dripping with scorn and poorly disguised pain. He’s right in front of me now, so close that it’s almost unbearable, and I have to stand up to anchor myself, remind myself this is real.

 

“Well, I’m sorry Luke, but you’re going to have to sort out whatever problem you have with this,” Ashton gestures to himself, “because I am not changing.” Now he’s shaking, too, a frozen ray of sunshine threatening to fall into pieces at any moment.

 

I look up at him, and have to bite my lip to keep from gasping. He’s so fucking _close_. In the shadows of the hotel room, Ashton looks like a fallen angel, the hurt in his eyes staring back at me accusingly, reminding me of everything I’ve done. The faint beams from the streetlight outside the window fall onto his hair, highlighting the blond in the curls, making a devilish halo of sorts. I want to kiss him so badly. Maybe I’m still not sober, maybe it’s that last shot of tequila from the club, but something makes me reach out and lightly caress Ashton’s stubbled cheek. He inhales sharply, eyes never leaving mine.

 

“I would never want you to,” I murmur sadly, and, closing my mind to the consequences, I press a trembling kiss to Ashton’s mouth.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, guys. it's been a while! sorry about that. i've been writing a lot and trying to make these chapters as perfect as possible for you all. thank you so much for reading - this story has become my baby of sorts, and it's so great to know that you all support it. i love the 5sos community on here and i have loved writing this story.
> 
> so far, i have 27 chapters planned out. of those 27 chapters, i have written 24. i will be writing the remaining three chapters in the next few days, though i may add more chapters, depending on how long each chapter gets. i like my chapters long, but not novel-length haha. 
> 
> anyway, i'll be posting the chapters i have written kind of all at once. so chapters 18-24 are all going to go up tonight (march 7). i should have chapters 25, 26 and 27 finished by march 13th. 
> 
> things will be getting dramatic from here on out. no trigger warnings for this chapter. again, thank you for your support, and please enjoy. :)

Eighteen

_And I thought you can leave it all in your mind_

_-Open Season_

I curse the ridiculously bright Australian sunlight, harsh rays streaming directly into my face and tearing me from my dreamless sleep. Normally I’d be pretty upset at being woken up so early anyway, but last night was my first peaceful rest in a month, as my nightmares returned without Ashton to talk me through my worries every night.

 

I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes, finally appreciating the hotel room Calum booked. I didn’t get a proper glimpse of it last night — or at least, I don’t _remember_ getting a good glimpse of it. There’s a gaping hole in my memory, a huge black canyon stretching on from my hasty exit from the club. Even getting ready with Michael and Calum before the club is a bit hazy. I’m tempted to crawl back under the covers and fall back asleep, and the bed’s not making it easy for me to resist. Apparently the incredible softness isn’t the only benefit of an expensive bed, as mine is deliciously warm, almost like it would feel if another person was in here with me —

 

I look to my left and almost scream. _Shit_. Another person _is_ in here with me, and not just any person, but Ashton fucking Irwin himself. _Goddammit, Luke, you are_ such _a fucking idiot_. Memories rush back in flashes, and I have no choice but to watch as scenes from last night play behind my eyes.

 

_“I would never want you to,” I murmur sadly, and, closing my mind to the consequences, I press a trembling kiss to Ashton’s mouth. Something seems to snap inside him, and he moans gutturally, crushing his lips to mine. We back across the room, never breaking apart until — stupid me — I back us into a chair, and stumble against Ashton’s chest._

 

_…His fingers are everywhere at once, and it’s too much and never enough._

 

_…In a flourish of movement, Ashton picks me up in his arms and strides across the room. I giggle uncontrollably, staring up at him with what I’m sure is a disgustingly adorable face. I can’t help it. He looks down at me and grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, before dumping me unceremoniously on the bed. I yelp in surprise and stare at him reproachfully as he examines me from the foot of the bed. “Beautiful,” he declares, as though it were a fact of life._

 

_…Ashton collapses on top of me, a warm, comforting weight. He’s pressing little kisses onto my neck and chest as I realize with a jolt that he’s still inside me. For some reason, that makes me incredibly happy, and I want to stay this way, full of Ashton and covered in Ashton, for as long as I can. My eyelids work against me, dragging me down towards sleep, until finally, I give in._

 

It’s not a complete memory, but it’s enough to make me fully aware of what happened last night. Head pounding, I bury my face in my hands, trying to evaluate the best possible course of action for the extremely awkward situation I’ve put myself in. I mean, what exactly _is_ the best course of action when you drunkenly fucked your ex-best friend, who is still in a band with you and is _performing a gig with you tonight_? I look around for solid evidence of the past night’s events, and can’t help but gag when I see the foil wrapper in the trash. _At least you used protection — God only knows you wouldn’t wanna carry Ashton Irwin’s demon spawn baby._

 

However, any dream of using protection like a _responsible_ adult flies out the window when I move the cover to get out of bed and see that what _should_ have been in the condom actually ended up on my _thighs_. Resisting the urge to puke, I run to the bathroom and hurriedly scrub at my legs with a towel, already concocting plans of petty revenge on Ashton. 

 

After I’ve practically scrubbed myself raw, I brush my teeth and run over to the dresser to find some clothes. I throw on a band tee, a pair of jeans and some sneakers and head out the door, wallet in hand, to buy myself a backup plan.

 

∞

When I return from the drugstore, having downed some emergency contraception in the parking lot of a Macca’s, I find that Ashton has left, not even bothering to put a note in his place. I try to pretend it doesn’t bother me, but the blatant disregard for my feelings does sting a bit. Still, I should have expected as much — it’s not like we ever really sorted out our issues last night, which I guess means we’re still technically enemies, not friends. 

 

No matter, Ashton’s sneaky departure isn’t my biggest issue at the moment, as I’ve come back to exactly twenty-two voicemails and fifty-five text messages from Calum and Michael, all centering around the issue of where the _fuck_ I am and why _the hell_ haven’t they heard from me since I left the club last night. I let out a loud groan of frustration — Cal and Mikey are always so overprotective, and of course the night I had a fling with Ashton _would be_ the night I forget to check in with them after an unexpected departure. 

 

Moaning in exasperation, I begin to type out a quick group text to Calum and Michael, explaining that I’m okay, just super hungover, and that I’ll see them at the soundcheck later, but I realize by now, my friends have probably attempted to file a missing person’s report. My best option is to call one of them and let them hear my voice.

 

Calum is a safer bet, so I dial his number and prepare myself for a string of curses and a long, stern lecture. “Hello?” Calum picks up the phone on the second ring, obviously anticipating my call.

 

“Hey, Cal, it’s Luke. I’m sorry I didn’t text you guys last night, I was just really wasted and I kinda fell right into bed, totally forgot,” I explain, playing with my lip ring. “I know that’s no excuse and I’m really sorry to have worried you.” 

 

“Luke, it’s twelve in the afternoon,” Calum hisses. “Don’t tell me you’ve _just_ woken up.” I open my mouth, ready to tell him I was out doing something, but shut it quickly, realizing he’ll probably ask why I needed to run errands in the first place. I love Calum like a brother, and I’d trust him with my life, but hell will freeze over before I’m telling him about my one-night stand with our very own drummer.

 

“Yeah,” I say sheepishly, praying my freshman theatre class actually taught me something about acting. I’ve always been a bad liar, especially with Calum. “’M sorry.” I hold my breath, waiting for Calum’s response.

 

“Uh-huh,” he finally sighs out. I can picture him right now, probably running his hand through jet-black hair and rolling his eyes, something Cal always does when he’s irritated. “Well, remind me to never take you clubbing again,” he says, and I can hear the smile breaking through in his voice. I grin, knowing that I’m forgiven. “I’ll call Michael, let her know you’re safe and sound. But let’s keep this a one-time thing, okay?” Calum adds. I can hear the words he won’t dare to say — _You made Michael really upset, and I was worried about her._

 

I nod. “Of course, Calum. Thanks, man. I’ll see you at soundcheck.”

 

“Yup, 5:30 sharp — don’t be late!” Calum teases as he ends the call. I toss my phone onto a nearby chair and let out a huge breath of relief, collapsing onto the bed for a much-needed nap. _When did (half-)drunken flings get so goddamn exhausting?_


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, the drama. ashton is a jerk (but he secretly thinks luke is cute when she's mad shhh don't tell her he said that). 
> 
> disclaimer: i am fully aware the annandale is a pub in real life. it has been turned into a hotel for my purposes, seeing as this is an AU (alternative universe) story. also, i have no idea if 5sos actually played "superhero" at their first gig (i don't think they did because i don't think they had written superhero at the time, but please correct me if i'm wrong) but let's just roll with it ok. 
> 
> thank you for reading :) enjoy!

Nineteen

_I know how it goes from wrong and right_

_Did they ever fight, like us?_

_-You & I _

My eyes crack open at exactly 5:20 — just in time for the 5:30 soundcheck. As I throw my stuff together and head out the door, a beam of light hits the foil packet in the trash, reminding me of last night’s mistake. Alone with my thoughts in the elevator (everyone else must already be downstairs), I shudder at the thought of tonight’s gig. While just twenty-four hours ago this gig seemed like a great opportunity, now it feels more like a chore. Pretending to pal around on stage with Ashton is going to be torture — even if he doesn’t interact with Calum, Michael and me until the end of the show, when we take requests that may not require the drums.

 

As I predicted, soundcheck is awful — Ashton broods in the corner, staying as far away from me as possible, while Calum and Michael shoot concerned looks my way when they’re not too busy goofing around. By 6:20, when our soundcheck’s finally over, the palpable tension in the air has had an obvious effect on Michael. While Calum and Ashton grab bottles of water and go to fix their hair in the mirror backstage, Michael pulls me to the side. 

 

“What’s up?” I ask as casually as possible, fiddling with the flannel tied around my waist. I avoid Michael’s gaze, instead focusing on the workers adding the final touches to the ballroom for the auction. Our set-up is quite nice, actually — while the silent auction goes on below us, we’ll be playing on a slightly elevated stage, front and center. We’re in an ideal spot where everyone will be able to see us — whether that will end up being a good thing or not, only time will tell.

 

Michael grabs my wrist, forcing me to look at her. Eyes narrowed into hard chips of jade, Michael looks like she’s on the warpath. “Look, Luke, I don’t know what the fuck happened last night,” Michael begins, and my blood instantly runs cold. She pauses, seeing me flinch at her words, before starting over again. “I don’t know what happened last night, but you guys have _got_ to get your shit sorted out. The crowd is gonna hate us if there’s all of this unresolved tension onstage — and yeah, they can tell.” 

 

I open my mouth, ready to hit back with a sarcastic retort, but Michael’s not having it. She barrels on, determined to finish her speech without interruption. “So you and Ashton better go find a private place to sit, talk, scream, pull each other’s hair out— whatever,” Michael continues. “Just get this fixed before our gig. You have thirty minutes. Go.” When I just stand there, mouth hanging open like a fish, Michael gently pushes me forward, right as Calum’s steering Ashton my way. _Shit. They clearly thought this one out. A surprise attack, you could say._

 

Checking behind me to ensure Ashton’s following, I lead us out into the hallway and into our dressing room, one door to the right of the ballroom. I slip in the keycard, nudge the door open and arrange myself on the couch, wincing when Ashton slams the door behind him. 

 

I watch as Ashton paces the room — _just like he did last night_ , my mind says. I cringe at the flashback and focus on picking at a stray thread on my jeans. The clock on the wall ticks on as we remain still and silent, so unlike the vibrant friends we used to be.

 

Finally, Ashton decides to speak up. “I’m not sure what your issue is, Luke, but Calum and Michael are right — your negative attitude towards me needs to change before we go onstage tonight, or you better become one hell of a good actress in thirty minutes,” Ashton says icily. My cheeks heat up instantly, the snarky remark making my blood boil. Still, despite the heat in my veins at Ashton’s word, my heart is aching, frozen over at my former friend’s comment. Ashton’s tone has never been this cold with me, and something about him speaking to me like this just makes me see red.

 

After a month of the silent treatment, a month of being ignored, a month of allowing myself to hurt so Ashton can wallow in his own pain, I finally snap.

 

“Are you _kidding_ me, Irwin? You don’t know what my _issue_ is?” I shriek, leaping to my feet and glaring at the curly-haired asshole across from me. “We fucking _slept together_ last night, after a period of not speaking for a _month_ , and when I come back from buying emergency fucking _contraception_ , since apparently we didn’t even use _protection_ , _you_ have up and left, without even leaving me a fucking note! You didn’t have to write me a goddamn sonnet, just a little Post-It note or something would’ve been nice, maybe an, oh, I don’t know, ‘ _Sorry for hooking up with you last night. You sucked, I won’t make that mistake again_ ,’ or hell, even just a, ‘ _Sorry we fucked, see ya later!_ ’” I’m steaming now, fists clenched and tempted to attack my former best friend.

 

Ashton’s in shock, lips moving soundlessly in a struggle to find the right words to say. I don’t give him a second chance to make things right. Instead, I grab my keycard and leave, storming into the ballroom without another word. 

Ashton doesn’t follow, and though Michael and Calum give me inquisitive glances, I’m done. I hide backstage and stay silent, trying to muster up the energy for the show — but try as I might to distract myself from the drama that’s just unfolded, it’s no use. Despite Calum loudly tuning his bass a few feet away from me, the only thing ringing in my head is Ashton’s final cold words — _you better become one hell of a good actress in thirty minutes._

 

Well, Ash, I barely passed theatre, but I might as well try. Annandale gig, here I come — ready or not.

 

∞

Final chords of “Superhero” still ringing in the air, we slip off the stage quietly, only leaving to a smattering of applause. My acting skills? Still terrible. I can practically feel the heat of Michael’s anger radiating off her from a few feet away, and I can definitely hear Calum’s soft words of comfort in her ear. Ashton’s stony-faced, grabbing a bottle of water and a towel to wipe the sweat off his face. 

 

We put away our instruments in a locked room — we’ll collect them tomorrow morning when we check out, and hotel workers will disassemble Ashton’s drum kit after the auction — and pack into the elevator, completely silent. I glance over and see Calum rubbing slow circles on Michael’s back. _Maybe at least one couple will be brought together by this._ I sigh, leaning against the railing; I really fucked this one up. The gig was awful — the drama between Ashton and I meant shaky drumming for Ashton, and missed or misplayed chords for me. I forgot lyrics, Ashton nearly broke his drums, and Calum and Michael tried desperately to keep the whole mess in one piece. A valiant effort, but still, a failure. 

 

Guilt settles heavily on my chest as we head to our separate rooms. Our final shot at getting to America, our final chance at making something of ourselves, and I’ve ruined it. We’ve all given up so much for this — Calum gave up football, a career he’d showed a lot of promise in; Michael gave up her time and money; and Ashton and I gave up our friendship, in the end. And now it all means nothing, because I had to screw up and act like an immature little kid, because I couldn’t move past things with Ashton and be a responsible adult for once.

 

No wonder Michael’s mad at me. No wonder Calum’s disappointed. No wonder Ashton can barely stand to look me in the eye. I’m an utter fuck-up.

 

I’m starting to wish I’d snuck in that blade.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the drama continues. also whoops i kinda-sorta attempted to give michael a bit of a backstory but that kind of failed oh well.
> 
> also the neighbourhood is one of my favorite bands so of course i had to include some neighbourhood lyrics in here :)
> 
> thank you for reading :) please enjoy!

Twenty

_You’re too mean, I don’t like you, fuck you anyway_

_You make me wanna scream at the top of my lungs_

_-Afraid_

The next day, the ride back to my house is awkward and quiet. While I’m not subjected again to torture in the sedan with Michael and Ashton, being left with Calum in the van isn’t all sunshines and rainbows, either. I can tell by the way Calum stares blankly ahead, clutching the steering wheel tightly, that he’d rather be anywhere else — probably with Michael, if my assumptions about their feelings for each other are correct. Then again, I’m not really the best person to talk about feelings, considering how badly I fucked that up with Ashton.

 

I can only stand to be alone in my house for a few hours before I decide that Michael deserves an apology — a face-to-face one. While I could get a lift from Calum, I’d rather avoid the certain tension; but Michael’s house is only a short bike ride away, and while I haven’t dragged that rusty old thing out since seventh grade, maybe it’s time for a little exercise. I slip on a pair of Vans and haul my bicycle out of the garage. I have to take a few moments to inflate the tires, but once my bike actually wants to move, I’m off, pedaling past the same old cookiecutter houses and greasy restaurants I’ve known since birth. My body knows where to take me, and I barely have to think about where I’m going; my feet just instinctively pedal to Mikey’s house.

 

I throw my bike down in front of Michael’s house, letting out a sigh of relief when I spot her mother’s car in the driveway. When Mikey gets mad, and she’s not satisfied with the way her inevitable confrontation went, she’ll isolate you for days at a time. While I have experience with calming Mikey down thanks to years of mistakes on Calum’s part, she hasn’t been this angry with me in a long time, and it’s a good thing her mother’s home, because otherwise Michael probably wouldn’t even answer the front door for me. 

 

I ring the doorbell, wiping sweaty palms on my jeans. No matter my amazing persuasive skills; this is still going to be a tough conversation. Mrs. Clifford answers the door, the exhausted look on her face hinting at a recent argument with Michael. Although Mikey loves her parents to death, she’s gone through a rough patch with them recently, as they’ve been having money troubles and Michael’s constant purchases of video games, pizza and alcohol have been an issue for the Cliffords. Mr. Clifford is a little more apprehensive about confronting Michael, but Mrs. Clifford knows her daughter well enough to attempt to discipline her — although the Cliffords are well aware Mikey will eventually get her way. They’ve stopped trying to punish her, really, as Michael’s worn them out over these past few months.

 

Michael wasn’t always a heavy partier, nor was she always boy-crazy. When I met her, she was actually very quiet, a reserved girl who would rather stay at home and play video games than go outside and engage in a game of doctor with the neighborhood boys. However, Mikey was quirky, always just a little different from everyone else, and her slightly off-color sense of humor didn’t really help. As time went on, our classmates began to notice this difference, and they began to bully her. If I wasn’t the one being picked on that day, it was Mikey’s turn, and she couldn’t _stand_ it. By the time grade six rolled around, Michael declared she needed to enroll in self-defense classes; to this day, she’ll still boast about having the best palm strike in her class, despite being the youngest in “Protection and Self-Defense 101.” 

 

Michael turned to violence to protect herself, and though her daily fights were never a pretty sight, my best friend always came out on top. People started to learn to stay away from Michael Clifford if you didn’t want to exit the cafeteria with a bloody nose, but Mikey had developed an attitude similar to that of a wounded animal. Whenever she felt cornered, Michael would resort to thinking with her fists, and that scared me. Though I knew Mikey would never hit me, I wished she would use her words and not her knuckles to communicate. 

 

With Calum’s peaceful influence, Michael slowly came out of her aggressive phase, and by the middle of Year 9, she’d sorted things out. However, without her fists to protect her, Mikey turned to partying and boys. In moderation, these things are fine — but in excess, and especially when combined, they can be dangerous. Mikey knows that full well — she simply doesn’t care. Sometimes I think that clubbing for Michael is just as much a form of self-harm as my cutting. She’s destroying herself, corroding her liver with prettily-named vodka, breaking her heart with shiny-eyed boys. But I don’t say anything, god knows the one time I tried to was disastrous enough, and I watch with Calum from the sidelines as Michael dances her way to destruction.

 

The band’s been good for her. Thanks to 5SOS, Mikey’s focused on something more productive than the cheapest way to get good liquor. She’s only visited the clubs a few times since the band got serious, and I’m thankful for that. I can’t lose Michael, too, not when I’ve already lost Ashton. But now, thinking back on Michael’s bad partying ways, I wonder if fucking up the gig at the Annandale may ruin 5SOS and send Michael back into the clubs.

 

Mrs. Clifford (she prefers for me to call her Karen, since I’m “like family”) stares at me, clearly waiting for the answer to a question I must have missed. “Sorry, Karen, I zoned out for a second,” I apologize. “It’s been a long few days, what with the gig and all.” Karen smiles, likely thinking the same thing about Mikey being a better person with the band on her mind. 

 

“It’s fine, honey,” she smiles. “I was just saying that Michael’s in an awfully bad mood today — she’s locked herself in her room and everything. I’m not sure if you’d want to talk to her, considering the state she’s in.”

 

“Well, if anyone’s going to calm Michael down, it’s probably me,” I remind her. “Aside from Calum, I know Mikey better than anyone. I just need to talk to her.” 

 

“If you say so, Luke,” Karen sighs. She opens the door wider and ushers me inside, quietly closing the door behind us. “See if you can get her to come out. I’ll have lemonade waiting in the kitchen, if you’d like some.” Karen disappears into the kitchen, and I take the steps upstairs two at a time, far too eager for a confrontation I know probably won’t end well.

 

Michael’s room is the first on the right — not like I’d have trouble finding it, what with all the “KEEP OUT” signs plastered on the door. Michael goes through phases of peeling the signs off and putting them back up, depending on the amount of arguments she’s had with her parents recently — and judging by the state of that door, the Clifford household has been a nightmare lately.

 

I rap a quick rhythm on Michael’s door — the guitar riff for “Rejects,” a song we wrote a few months ago. “Mikey?” I call. “It’s Luke. I know you’re mad at me, and I completely understand why, but _please_ open up, I just wanna talk.” 

 

It takes a few minutes. Michael’s always slow, lumbering and lazy when she’s in a mood like this one — her attitude is that of an injured cat licking its wounds after a lost fight. It’s similar to the cornered-animal personality she developed in year six, but it’s more mellow, and at least I’m fairly confident Michael won’t resort to using her fists to settle this argument.

 

The door creaks open, Michael making sure every inch is heard and counted. “You can come in, but make it quick,” she mumbles gruffly. I’m pleasantly surprised, quickly darting into the tornado that is Mikey’s room — I’d expected a soft “ _Fuck off_ ,” but maybe Karen’s been putting something in the food around here, because Michael seems awfully subdued. 

 

I perch on the end of Michael’s favorite stained sofa, while Michael sits on the edge of her unmade bed, fingers absentmindedly tracing the plain black stud in her left ear. It’s then that I notice the spiderwebs of red in her eyes, harsh and vibrant against the white of her sclera, and suddenly all the warning signs are popping up and screaming at me. The dark purple circles, the tearstained cheeks, the messy hair — Michael’s having a breakdown, and _fuck me_ if I’m the cause.

 

“Mikey,” I breathe, the frazzled state of my best friend, normally so calm and composed and _unflappable_ , like a punch to the gut. “Are you okay?” 

 

“That’s a fuckin’ stupid question, Luke, considering what happened at the Annandale yesterday,” Michael mumbles, picking at a loose thread on her oversized sweater. The pullover’s huge, swallowing up Mikey’s frame, the harsh black highlighting the pale alabaster of her skin, and suddenly my best friend looks so _breakable_.

 

“I’m sorry, Mikey,” I whisper, chest constricting painfully. I’ve clearly had a bigger effect than I thought. _God, Luke, you really_ are _a fuck-up._ “This is all my fault and I’m sorry. But we’ll make things right, okay? There will be other gigs and other agents and we’ll build ourselves back up from this, it’s not the end of the world—”

 

“ _God_ , Luke, you really _are_ oblivious,” Michael interrupts, laughing bitterly. It’s a sound I’ve never heard from my best friend, and I’m digging my nails into my skin as it replays in my head, over and over again. _God, Luke, you really_ are _oblivious_.

 

All I can manage is a soft, “What?” It’s a whimper, like that of a wounded puppy’s, and Michael’s turning to me, eyes flashing dark green when they should be light, light like spring grass and happy thoughts and _fuck_ , I’m in for it, I know I am.

 

“Do you not get it, Luke?” Michael shouts, face flushed with rage. “That was our _last chance_! That gig, it could’ve been our one-way ticket to America — and you fucked it up!” 

 

I’m silent, stunned and unsure of how to respond, so Michael continues with her rant. “We’ve been dreaming of this for _years_ , to get out of this sorry town and go somewhere we might actually have a future, but now that it’s apparently 5 Seconds of _Luke_ and not 5 Seconds of _Summer_ , you couldn’t even give us that!” Michael’s panting by now, chest heaving with the anger of her words. “Don’t you _see_ , Luke? We are _stuck here_ now!”

 

Tears spring to my eyes, unbidden and unwanted but an ugly presence anyway. _Probably just like me_ , I think to myself.

 

Time seems to slow down, seconds stretching by in an awful warped sense of living, before I can come up with a coherent response. “Michael, I’m so _sorry_.” That’s all I can say, after twelve years of friendship that’s all I can fucking say, and I know it’s pathetic, I _know_ it’s not enough but _it’s all I fucking have_.

 

“Get out,” Michael hisses through clenched teeth, shaking finger pointing at her door. I simply sit there, dumb and mute, unable to believe that any of this is reality and _really_ fucking wishing it was all just a really bad nightmare. “Get _out_!” Michael yells, and I’m scrambling off the couch, running for the door like maybe if I escape things will all go back to normal.

 

“Wait,” Michael calls as I’ve got one hand on the doorknob, and I turn back, hope blooming in my chest like a damaged flower. Maybe Michael’s changed her mind, maybe we can just talk this out and start working on the band again, maybe—

 

Something lands by my feet in a blur of neon colors. I pick it up and shove it in my pocket, still staring at Michael hopefully. “Now _get the hell out_ ,” Michael utters, low and dangerous, and she doesn’t have to tell me twice, I’m practically falling down the stairs in my rush to get away, run and just leave it all behind me.

 

Karen’s shouting into the hallway as I slam the door behind me, asking questions and wanting to know if everything’s okay, and it’s not until I’m getting on my bike that I even bother to look at what Michael threw to me. 

 

I feel the object, soft and worn, in my jeans pocket, and I pull it out, unfurling it in the palm of my hand. Examining it closely, it only takes me a few seconds to realize what Michael’s given back to me.

 

Her friendship bracelet. One of the first things we ever made together, back in fucking year one. Michael and I strung together colors that resembled a neon version of a bruise, making two bracelets that we proudly presented to our mothers as a sign of our blossoming friendship. We stopped wearing the ratty old things when they began to fall apart in year five, and instead kept them in secret places in our rooms, hiding spots no one else knew about so nobody could ever steal our friendship away.

 

Except now, Michael’s taken our friendship and thrown it right back in my face.

 

Karen’s out on the lawn now, loudly begging me to please come back inside, and my feet are taking me to Calum’s house before I even decide to. Taking me to somewhere safe.

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEVERE TRIGGER WARNING for self-harm ok please be safe. if you ever have any doubts about a chapter, please feel free to message me, i want you to be safe.
> 
> also these next few chapters are going to be angsty and full of coldplay lyrics. i apologize in advance.
> 
> thank you for reading. :) please enjoy

Twenty-One

_I’m so scared about the future and I wanna talk to you_

_-Talk_

I ring Calum’s doorbell frantically, and Mrs. Hood only has to take one look at me before she lets me in, calling something after me that I don’t bother to stop and hear. I just need someone right now, and a dose of Calum Hood Comfort sounds perfect.

 

I burst into Calum’s room, eyes burning with tears, tears that I’d like to save for when I’m safely in Cal’s soothing arms. The door bangs open, but I’m silent, mouth dropping open as I take in the sight in front of me. I wouldn’t have cared about walking in on Calum and a potential hook-up, Calum caught in a “personal moment,” or Calum on a crying jag — but what I’m seeing right now hurts me so much, I can barely process it. Here, in my best friend’s room, is the source of all my problems — Ashton Fletcher _fucking_ Irwin, sitting on the bed with _my_ best friend and having a nice little heartfelt chat.

 

Turning to the source of the noise, Calum spots my hurt look and immediately begins to stutter out an apology. “Luke, I-I’m so sorry, this isn’t what it l-looks like—” I don’t allow him to finish, turning on my heel and running, tears streaming freely down my cheeks, leaving Ashton with a smug smirk and Calum shouting my name.

 

I stumble down the stairs, Mrs. Hood folding me into her arms as soon as I reach the bottom. “What happened, honey?” she murmurs, stroking my hair. “I tried to tell you Calum had a friend over, but you didn’t seem to hear me.” 

 

I linger in Mrs. Hood’s arms for a few moments before pulling away — I can hear Calum thumping down the stairs, and I’m not in the mood to talk to him right now. “It’s nothing, Mrs. Hood,” I say, smiling weakly and wiping away my tears. “Just had a bad day. I’ll see you around. Thanks for your hospitality.” 

 

As I leave the Hoods’ house and jump onto my bike, I can hear Calum opening the door to his house, shouting something at his mother about letting me get away. My bike speeds off just as Calum’s figure emerges on the lawn, and I pedal faster than a cyclist in the Tour de France. Suburban Sydney rushes by in a blur, and I let out a relieved sigh at the cool darkness that envelops me when I bike into my garage. I step off the bicycle and throw it onto the ground, barely flinching at the loud crack that resonates through the air.

 

The garage is cool, but I’m craving something cooler. Body on autopilot, I trudge up the stairs like my feet are made of solid iron, feeling numb. _Is this reality? What’s wrong with me? Why do I keep fucking up so_ badly _?_

 

My first stop is my room. I search through my desk for a piece of paper and a pen, fingers landing on the thick, creamy parchment my father brought home from Italy as a gift for my thirteenth birthday. Even back then, I was obsessed with songwriting. I grab a pen and scrawl a messy list onto the paper. 

 

** Calum — anything masculine my parents don’t want, band shirts, laptop **

** Michael — guitar, phone, jewelry (split bracelets with Lauren Irwin) **

** Ashton — bookbag, songwriting book, guitar picks **

** xx Luke **

 

When Calum, Michael and I were younger, probably about fifteen, we had what many would call an “existential crisis.” We worried about dying, began to check every inch of our bodies for potentially cancerous moles or signs of poor health (Calum was especially concerned about the moles, considering he didn’t bother with SPF much as a child). During that crisis, we made up a list of things we wanted each other to have if we did indeed die at a young age. I decreed that Michael could have my guitar, while Calum was satisfied with my band shirts and laptop. I got to have Michael’s vast collection of hair dye, while Calum said he’d leave me his bass (an instrument I’d always wanted to learn to play). 

 

As our meager inventories grew with age, the list changed, but the essential purpose behind it never did — _don’t forget me, but move on_. When our parents found out about our morbid practice, they put a stop to it immediately, but I’d memorized the basics and kept a running list in my head. Since Ashton came into the picture about a year ago, I had to adjust things a little bit, but I’m pretty proud of the final product. I think it’s pretty evenly split — I gave each person the things that had the most meaning to our relationship (or whatever they’d just flat-out asked for; since Ashton and I never discussed the subject, I just went with meaning). 

 

I leave the paper on my desk and walk over to my bookshelf, where my favorite book is waiting. _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen, also known as the home of Luke Hemmings’ personal razor collection. I select my favorite blade, the one I nearly killed myself with that awful August day, and head to the bathroom, rolling up my sleeves in preparation. 

 

Crouching on the tiled floor, it only takes a few seconds for Michael’s words to start rolling into my head. _Get the hell out… God, Luke, you really are oblivious… You fucked it up…_ Then Ashton’s remarks come into play. _Please stop texting me or I’ll have to block your number… Get out… You can’t trust me because I’m me, huh?_

 

Soon enough, every hurtful statement I’ve ever heard is playing back in my mind, and the metal’s digging into my skin. It should bring sweet release, but I’m just getting angrier, slashing harder and faster and _deeper_ with every new phrase I hear in my head. _Failure, fuck-up, reject, disappointment, outcast, loser, nerd, idiot._ As my hands move more, the words die down, until the voices finally fall silent. Then it’s just me and my arm, flesh turning to red turning to white until the 

                                                                                  only

                                                         thing

                                         I

                        see

           is

black.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: talk of self-harm, anxiety attack.
> 
> this is really long and sad and i'm sorry.
> 
> thank you for reading :) please (try to) enjoy!

Twenty-Two

_Oh, come on love, stay with me_

_-White Shadows_

"Luke? Luke, sweetie, can you hear me?” Shadows swim underneath my eyes, but I struggle out of sleep anyway at the sound of my mother’s voice. It’s instinct, I suppose.

 

My vision’s blurry for the first few moments after I open my eyes, but I can make out the details of sterile white walls, smell the antiseptic and hint of iron in the air, hear the beeping around me. I’m in the hospital. 

 

“Oh, _honey_.” Tears fall onto my gown as my mother cries over me, weeping in a way that will inspire weeks of nightmares. “You had me so worried, darling, I thought I was going to lose you. I know it’s been hard, what with your brothers gone and your father away most of the time, but we’ll get you the help you need, love, don’t you worry.” The silent plea for sanity is clear in my mother’s voice, so I simply nod, throat sore. I touch my fingers to my neck, glancing up at my mother in an inquisitive way I know she’ll understand.

 

“Oh, yes, they had to give you a breathing tube for a little while,” my mother informs me. Her voice catches as she continues. “You—you lost a lot of blood, sweetie. We almost lost you.” Mum’s unspoken questions ring loud and clear — _what were you thinking? This will put so much stress on the family, how could you be so selfish? The therapy bills are going to skyrocket, how will we pay for them?_ I blink back tears at the accusations ringing in my head, and turn my face away so my mother can’t see.

 

I know my mother cares about me, or she’d have given up by now and allowed the government to put me in a mental hospital; and I’m confident that the rest of my family does love me, but the voice in my head always questions why. _Why do they love you, Luke? You’re a waste of space, a thief of precious oxygen. Why does your family waste their time caring about you when all you do is take away their time and money?_  

 

I used to ignore the voice, but as evidenced by my recent actions, it’s clearly become impossible to just brush away. No one knows about the voice, not even Michael, but as I glance down at the thick bandages covering my arms, I wonder if maybe it’s time to tell someone. Questions immediately bounce around in my head at even the mere idea of being open about the voice, and I decide maybe it’s best to keep it quiet for now. Surely the hospital will prescribe more therapy sessions for me, and perhaps I’ll confide in Dr. Marcia Jones then, but for now, there’s no need to give my mother a coronary with talk of a “voice.” Even if I do confide in someone before my next appointment with Dr. Marcia, that someone is more likely to be Michael or Calum, not my high-strung mum. 

 

_Speaking of…_ I shut my eyes tight as flashbacks play in my head. Fucking up the gig at the Annandale, fighting with Michael, finding Ashton in Calum’s room… I’m beginning to remember why I relapsed so badly. Thinking back on it, I can’t be certain of when I did cut deep enough to land myself in the hospital. Was it last night, or just a few hours ago? I look around the room, eyes landing on a whiteboard with all my stats and the gory details of my relapse. Apparently I required surgery to repair damage to my left arm, which explains the morphine drip by my bed, and fun fact: my blood type is O-, and I needed four pints of the stuff. The date on the board tells me that it has indeed been a day since my relapse, and my expected checkout date is three days from now.

 

Chest heavy with guilt, I reach for the glass of water on my nightstand, careful not to rip out my IV. After gulping down the water, my throat feels less scratchy, and I’m confident in my ability to speak. “Mum?” I whisper, rolling back on my side so my mother can see my face. 

 

She smiles gently and strokes my cheek with heartbreaking tenderness, a kind of affection that I wonder if I deserve. “Yes, sweetie?” she murmurs.

 

“Where are my friends?” I choke out, eyes welling up at the blatant absence of my two biggest supporters. I know Michael probably hates me, so I wouldn’t expect her to show up, but her missing presence still stings. As for Calum, well, he doesn’t have an excuse. 

 

My mother looks ready to break down at my question. Her lip quivers, and she scratches at her nose, something she’s always done when she’s struggling to maintain her composure. She takes a deep breath before replying. “Well, honey,” my mother says evenly, seeming to carefully select each word, “you do have some visitors out in the hallway. Would you like me to bring them in?” 

 

I nod quickly, unsure if I can speak without crying, and my mother gives my hand one last squeeze before disappearing into the hallway. I hear muffled voices from outside before the door to my room opens again. In a last-ditch effort to maintain some dignity, I try to smooth down my hair and adjust my hospital gown, ensuring everything is covered properly. As my visitors enter the room, I sink back into the pillows, fingers brushing over my bandages and reminding me that I’ve failed everyone, yet again.

 

I look up, expecting to see Ben and Jack, maybe Calum, but what I see nearly knocks the breath out of me. Next to a head of jet-black curls, vibrant plum ombré hair stands out to me like a red flag to a bull. I’m not sure if the apocalypse is coming or her parents bribed her into coming here, but beyond all odds, Michael Clifford is standing in my hospital room.

 

My mouth is gaping, lips unable to form words. Seeing my shocked expression, my mother says, “I’ll let you three have some alone time. I’ll be in the cafeteria if you need me.” I wave her goodbye as she shuts the door behind her, leaving me alone with my two former best friends.

 

A lump still at the back of my throat, I use these few awkward moments of silence to examine the scene in front of me. While both of my bandmates look like complete wrecks, Michael seems to be worse off than Calum. She’s the picture of the walking dead. Despite a valiant effort to conceal them, dark circles are prominent under Michael’s eyes, and her face is red and puffy, like she’s been crying non-stop. Though Michael’s not typically one to go on a crying jag, I know the signs. Yesterday’s oversized sweater hangs off of Michael’s petite frame, and her hair’s a mess, a wild jungle of purple hues.

 

Calum isn’t looking too great, either. Like Michael, his hair is a mess, and his cheeks are stained with tears — when he sees me looking, he quickly tries to wipe them away. Calum’s nails are ragged, practically bitten down to the quick — that won’t bode well for his bass playing, as now they’ll probably bleed every time he tries to touch a string. 

 

Despite their grim appearances, I’m pleased to see Calum’s arm slung around Michael’s shoulder. I know Calum is Michael’s rock in a rough time, and no doubt Michael is the same thing for Cal. _It would be ironic if_ your _failure actually resulted in something good_ , the voice hisses. I push it away and smile weakly at my friends. “Hey, guys,” I croak. “Long time no see.” 

 

As soon as the words leave my mouth, Michael’s sobbing, a blubbering, hysterical mess. “Luke, I’m s-so f-fucking _sorry_ ,” she cries, burying her face in her hands. “You d-didn’t fuck _a-anything_ up, we were p-probably never meant to leave S-Sydney anyway.” I cringe slightly at the last statement, though I cover it up expertly with a fake cough and take a sip of water before speaking.

 

“Michael, it’s fine,” I say softly. “I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive me. What I did wasn’t right; it was immature, and I’m sorry I ruined the gig. I know how much it meant to you, and I shouldn’t have let some stupid drama interfere.” Michael allows a small smile onto her face at my words, but she hovers awkwardly at the foot of my bed, unsure of her boundaries. Seeing her internal struggle, I pat the edge of the bed, motioning for Michael to come sit down. She follows my lead and perches next to me, immediately wrapping me up in a tight hug. 

 

“I’m sorry, Luke,” Michael sobs into my hair. “I love you, and I’ll never kick you out again, promise.” I chuckle and rub Mikey’s back, glad to have made up with my best friend. Once her tears have subsided, Mikey sits up and looks over at Calum, who is watching us with a nervous expression.

 

“C’mere, Calum,” I grin. “Join in. I’m not mad at you; I know you’re friends with Ashton, too, and that’s perfectly fine. I just overreacted.” Smiling widely, Calum initiates a group hug that, although it makes my stitches ache, I wouldn’t trade for anything.

 

Once we’ve pulled apart, I know I need to address the elephant in the room. “So,” I sigh, leaning back into the bed, “what’s the story? Who found me? I’m pretty clueless, Mum didn’t tell me much of anything.” 

 

Calum and Michael exchange an uneasy look, silently agreeing on Calum as the designated storyteller, since he appears to be the more stable of the two. “Well,” Calum begins, “after you left, I kind of had a huge argument with my mom. She accused me of being mean to you and I got irritated.” Calum scratches his head, clearly growing uneasy. “In the middle of the fight, Ashton got the brilliant idea to go check on you and make sure you were okay.” My chest tightens at the sheer mention of Ashton — where is he, anyway? I know we weren’t on the best of terms, but as my bandmate, I can’t help but feel a little hurt that he didn’t show up. 

 

“So,” Calum continues, “we showed up at your house, knocked on the door, no one answered — but we knew you were home, because the lights were on upstairs. At that point, I was ready to just go back home and call you later, cuz you clearly didn’t wanna be bothered, but Ashton had a gut feeling that something was wrong.” Calum shivers at the memory. “Luckily, I still had the spare key that you gave me, so we got in through the garage.” Calum has to pause, visible goosebumps appearing on his arms.

 

“The house was just too quiet. It was that eerie kind of silent you only ever hear when something’s really gone bad,” Calum mutters, rubbing his arms. “Ashton decided to check your room while I checked downstairs, and that’s when he found the note.” I can see Cal blinking back tears. “I just lost it, man. I was screaming and sobbing like a baby, and I got on the phone with 911 while Ashton kicked your bathroom door down. And you were just… lying there.” Calum’s voice cracks as he struggles to finish the story. “Ashton picked you up and he said you were just so cold already, and there was blood… _everywhere_ …” Calum trails off, staring into space. Michael places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but he’s obviously done.

 

“Well, thank you, Cal,” I say sincerely. “I probably wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t shown up.” 

 

“You should be thanking Ashton, not me,” Calum mumbles, and judging by the wide-eyed, panicky look Michael shoots his way, I know there’s something they’re not telling me.

 

“Speaking of…” I start. Calum pales, and Michael’s knuckles are white on the bedrail. “Where is Ashton?” I ask casually.

 

I can tell Calum wants to lie to me, but Mikey knows there’s no escaping the truth with me, not this time. She opens her mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a choked cry, and then Michael’s crying again, shoulders shaking as she weeps. Calum rubs her back and says cautiously, “He left, Lukey.” 

 

Suddenly, my vision has narrowed to just Calum and what he’s saying. “What do you mean?” I ask frantically. I can hear my heart monitor beeping faster, and Michael lets out a loud sob.

 

“I tried to text him a million times after the ambulance came, Luke,” Calum says apologetically, face creased with worry. “I asked him to come to the hospital, wanted to know if he needed a ride or anything. When he didn’t respond after a few hours, I decided to go to his house — maybe his phone had died or maybe he was stuck babysitting the kids and needed some support. But, when I showed up…” Calum’s chin trembles, and he looks torn.

 

“When I showed up, his mum answered the door,” Calum explains. “And when I asked her where Ashton was… She said that he was at the airport. I asked her why he would be at the airport when our best friend and bandmate was in surgery, and she looked so confused. All she said was that Ashton had received a letter a few days ago, saying that he’d been offered a position as an intern at a prestigious record label in London, and he’d bought the first plane ticket he could get his hands on.” 

 

Time seems to stop, and my world blurs as tears roll down my cheeks. _Ashton left… Of course he left, you stupid bitch, you’re not good enough for him. This is all your fault, you’re a fuck-up, you made him leave the band and go to London, this is your fault, your fault your fault your fault your fault_

 

I don’t even realize I’ve spiraled into a panic attack until nurses come rushing into the room, injecting something into my IV and restraining my hands, which have scratched at my wrists to the point where blood is seeping through the bandages. The edges of my vision begin to fade to black, and the last thing I see is the hopeless look on Michael’s face as Calum leads her away.

 

_Nice job, Luke. Way to fuck up yet again._


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: talk of self-harm
> 
> i don't know how this chapter turned out so long but it kinda did.
> 
> thank you for reading :) please enjoy!

Twenty-Three

_And I can’t get over_

_Can’t get over you_

_-Magic_

After my “episode,” the doctors consult my therapist and decide to give me anxiety medication. Adjusting to the new prescription is difficult, and for the first few days, I’m so out of it that my mother’s convinced the cafeteria brownies are laced with marijuana. Thankfully, the drowsiness side effect has subsided in time for me to get checked out of the hospital on schedule. I leave with strict instructions to see a therapist three times a week, and a prescription for the new little pills that are supposed to calm me down. I wonder if they’ll quell the voice in my head, too — though that’s probably something to discuss with Dr. Marcia. 

 

It’s hard being at home. By now, school is out on break, and I get to be home with my family, though that’s still awkward as ever. Dad is usually away on one business trip or another, so he’s not as much of an issue, but my mum is always hovering over me, like if she turns her back for five seconds, I’ll slit my wrists with the nearest pencil sharpener. Ben and Jack, home from university for Christmas, aren’t much better. Ben, being the eldest and therefore an exact replica of my mother, is nosier than ever, always asking me what I’ve been up to and if I’ve had any “bad thoughts.” As the middle child, Jack seems to be more understanding. He give me space when it’s clear I need it, and asks to play video games with me without a second glance at the pink scars on my wrists. 

 

Oh, yeah, another annoying thing about being home? I’m forced to wear short sleeves, _all the time_. If it’s a bit chilly, my mum will just offer me hot tea, but no matter the circumstances, I’ve been forced to wear a t-shirt and shorts every day. Yes, the good ol’ docs at the hospital even made my mother aware of the cuts on my thighs, so now everyone gets to see the canvas of scars on my legs. Jack knows how uncomfortable it makes me and offers to talk to Mum about it, but I tell him not to bother. Maybe it’s for the best — if my mum can see every inch of my former cutting territory, then I won’t have to worry about relapsing, because I won’t be able to, at least not without notice. And that’s the tricky part — if I _do_ relapse again, or at least badly enough that it warrants even the smallest amount of stitches at the hospital, I’m being thrown into the psych ward. Turns out that Alex and Sean were actually wrong about a second attempt warranting a stay in the mental health ward, though. The doctors have invoked the “three-strikes-you’re-out” rule — three suicide attempts (and they count even the shallowest cut as an attempt) and you’re going to the mental hospital for a minimum of 72 hours.

 

Three days away from everything I love? I think that would just inspire more suicidal thoughts, but I can’t argue with the law of the land. My parents canvassed my room and threw away every sharp object I owned, so it’s not like I have many options anyway. A hospital stay cannot be and _will not be_ in Luke Hemmings’s future. 

 

Ever since the apology-fest in my hospital room, Michael and Calum have been more affectionate than ever. Though I suspect that Mikey still feels guilty about our fight, we both know that you can’t change the past, so we’ve just resorted to going back to how things used to be. 5SOS has been put on hold, what with the flighty departure of our drummer and poor mental state of our lead singer, so we have more time to focus on rebuilding our friendship. Mikey got her friendship bracelet back, and I got my best friend back, so I think we’re doing pretty well. As for Calum, he’s (understandably) still a little shaken up about these recent events, but he’s doing alright.

 

Therapy is actually going okay for me. Dr. Marcia seems to be less irritating now that I actually want to open up to her. I told her about the voice, which she said sounded like a bad case of extremely low self-esteem. With Dr. Marcia’s help and my friends and family’s support, I’ve been working on learning to love myself. It’s still a struggle, and the voice definitely pops back up from time to time, but I can already see the positive effects. 

 

Still, despite all my hard work on self-love and friendship reparation, life without school or 5SOS can be a little boring. Sitting around the house, playing the same old video games with Jack gets old after a while, and the same goes for the pizza parties with Michael and Calum. I love my friends and my family, but even they cannot completely substitute for the gaping void Ashton’s left behind. 

 

Ashton is a subject I’ve held off on discussing for as long as possible, but at my last appointment, Dr. Marcia said we would have to talk about him next time. Now, on the way to visit my therapist for the second time this week, I worry about the upcoming conversation. It’s hard for me to talk about Ashton, and I’m not sure what this therapy visit will do to my mental health.

 

I’m ushered into Dr. Marcia’s office, where I carefully sit in the expensive leather chair, watching as the therapist flips through her packet of notes from my file. I feel like I’ve been there for hours when Dr. Marcia finally looks up from the packet and greets me with a warm grin. “Hi there, Luke,” she says warmly. “Nice to see you today. How have you been?” 

 

“Good,” I respond automatically. I’m happy that I don’t even have to think about that answer anymore; it just comes naturally, which must mean I really _am_ doing well. “What about you?” 

 

“I’m great, thanks.” Dr. Marcia scribbles something on a notepad and leans forward. “So, remember what we talked about at your last appointment?”

 

I swallow hard. “Yes,” I mumble, staring down at my lap. Pale white lines mix with last month’s pink slashes to form a delicate web of scars on my thighs. 

 

“I know this is going to be hard for you to talk about, Luke, but it has to be done,” Dr. Marcia says sympathetically. She presses the intercom button on her phone. “Lindsay? Could I get a bottle of water, please? Thank you.” Dr. Marcia’s blond assistant rushes in with a sweating bottle of Evian, which my therapist immediately hands to me. I smile gratefully and take a large sip as Lindsay scurries back out.

 

“So from what I’ve heard, a lot of your recent difficulties seem to stem from this young man,” Dr. Marcia continues carefully. “Would you say that is an accurate assessment?” I nod tightly. “Okay. Well, let’s just start with the basics, and we’ll go from there, alright? How did you meet Ashton?” 

 

“Some jerks were being rude to me at the mall, and he, um, intervened,” I say thickly, tears already beading in the corner of my eyes. I swipe them away before my therapist can notice. “Then I went to a concert later that night with my friends, and he was the lead singer of the band that was playing. I got his number, and when my friends and I decided to create our own band a few days later, my friend Michael contacted him and asked him to be our drummer, since his band had broken up.” 

 

“Wow, that’s a real stroke of luck,” Dr. Marcia comments.

 

I shrug. “I don’t know, is it really?” I murmur. “I mean, if I’d never met Ashton, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

 

“Low self-esteem and severe anxiety are still significant issues that would have landed you here no matter what, Luke,” Dr. Marcia reminds me. Well, she is probably right about that. “So, I’m guessing you and Ashton became quite close?” she prompts.

 

I nod. “Yeah, he saved me from an, um… unfortunate situation, and we just kept getting closer after that. Then I kind of… messed things up.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep the tears from slipping out.

 

“Please elaborate,” Dr. Marcia urges.

 

“Well, the band had been together for about a year, and we had a radio interview one weekend that just went completely wrong. The DJ made us play Spin the Bottle, and I was in denial of my feelings for Ashton. I’d fallen in love with him, but I didn’t want to admit it. I kind of have trust issues,” I admit. “So the DJ wanted me to kiss Ashton, and I just flat-out refused. It made us look bad, it caused a rift between me and Michael for being ‘unprofessional,’ and things only got worse from there.” 

 

“How so?” my therapist asks.

 

I sigh. “Michael made me get a ride home from Ashton because she was mad at me. That would’ve been fine, except Ashton decided to tell me that he really liked me and asked me out on a date,” I tell her. “I said no, and I was trying to explain why, but some words came out wrong and I basically ended up saying that I couldn’t trust him because of who he was, even though that wasn’t what I was trying to say. Ashton got really mad and made me get out of the car, and stopped talking to me after that. That’s when I started cutting again.” 

 

I’m crying pretty openly now, and Dr. Marcia passes me a tissue. “We stopped talking completely, and Ashton basically just cut me off. A month later, we had a big gig at the Annandale Hotel,” I choke out, dabbing at my eyes with the tissue. “The night before, I slept with Ashton. I’m not sure if it was a drunken mistake — I mean, I’d been clubbing earlier, but I was sober enough to know what I was doing — but he’d come over to my hotel room to talk about our argument, and I kissed him. It was a spur of the moment thing that turned into a huge mistake. I woke up in the morning and I didn’t remember much, but I knew what had happened, cuz he was still in my bed. I had to go buy emergency contraception, and when I got back, Ashton was gone. Didn’t even leave a note.” 

 

Dr. Marcia pats my arm reassuringly. “Men can be very stupid sometimes, sweetie,” she says softly. 

 

I laugh bitterly. “That’s definitely true. Anyway, things were so awkward between us that when we went to play our gig that night, we totally sucked. Michael was furious, and when we got home, I went to her house to apologize,” I explain. “We got in a huge fight, and I went over to Calum’s, seeking some comfort. I found him talking to Ashton, and I just lost it. I went home and… well, that’s when this happened.” I point to my scarred wrists. Dr. Marcia smiles sadly. “I woke up in the hospital, and Calum told me that Ashton left. He got an internship with a big record company in London, and he just left.” 

 

Dr. Marcia raises an eyebrow. “And how do you feel about that?” she asks, writing furiously on her notes.

 

The words are spilling out, and I don’t bother to try to contain them. It feels good to be totally honest for once. “It sucks, honestly. I miss him so much and I miss his friendship, I miss the way he made me feel, I miss his smile and his eyes and I just miss the _hell_ out of him,” I blather on, grabbing more tissues. “It hurts to not have him around, it hurts to not have his support, and I think what hurts most of all is that he just up and _left_ without an explanation or a note or _anything_. He didn’t even tell his mother that I was in the hospital. He just _went_.” 

 

“If Ashton came back, would you try to reconnect with him?” Dr. Marcia questions, pen poised over her notepad.

 

“Of course,” I say wistfully. “God, I would walk to the _UK_ and back just to talk it out with him one last time.” 

 

Dr. Marcia pauses. “Well, why don’t you do just that?” she suggests.

 

My jaw drops. “Excuse me?” I stammer, confused. “You want me to _walk to London_ to see Ashton?”

 

“No, no,” Dr. Marcia laughs, dropping her pen and leaning back in her chair. “Don’t _walk_ to London. That wouldn’t go so well. But in my professional — and personal — opinion, I believe you should go to London and try to find him.” 

 

My heart’s beating at a concerning rate, thudding in my chest like a jackhammer.  “And why exactly do you think that, Dr. Marcia?” I say slowly.

 

“Please, call me Marcia,” she grins. “And why do I think that? Because I can tell, just from the way you talk about him, that you clearly care about Ashton a lot. And when you lose someone that you care about that much, it takes a huge toll on your mental health. Loss requires closure if you want to recover from it. If finding Ashton is attainable, then I think you should do just that, and talk things out with him. Get some closure, and then you’ll finally begin to truly heal.” 

 

“Thank you, Marcia,” I say breathlessly, hurriedly standing up from my chair.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Marcia asks, eyebrows furrowing. “We’ve still got thirty minutes left.”

 

“I know, I’m sorry,” I apologize, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll make sure you get paid for the full hour, though. But if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some plane tickets to buy.”

 

∞

“So you’re telling me that your _therapist_ , who is supposed to help you _move on_ from Ashton, told you to hunt him down in London?” Michael says incredulously.

 

“Yes!” I nod excitedly. Surprise flashes across Michael and Calum’s features; they haven’t seen me this animated about something in a long time. 

 

“Luke, I’m not sure if this is a good idea,” Calum pipes up from his spot on the couch. We’re in Michael’s basement; I called my mum and rushed to be with my friends at Mikey’s after my appointment with Marcia. “I mean, what if he just ends up hurting you more?” Calum continues, picking at a loose thread on his jeans.

 

“I know it’s probably going to be a difficult visit,” I admit. “So that’s why I got these.” I slip my phone out of my pocket and show the screen to Michael. She lets out a shriek, and when Calum hurries over to look, his face pales to the point where I worry he may pass out.

 

In the car on the way to Michael’s, I used my meager savings to buy us three plane tickets to London. It wasn’t exactly cheap, and I’ve practically drained my bank account, but if this visit will help me on my road to recovery, then I think it’s worth it. Now, Michael stares at the electronic ticket on the screen, mouth gaping. “You’re kidding, right?” she whispers. 

 

“Nope,” I say proudly, tucking my phone back in my jeans.

 

“Luke, that’s a _lot_ of money!” Michael cries. “I can’t afford that!”

 

“You don’t have to worry about the cost,” I inform her. “I’m paying for it.”

 

“That’s crazy, Lukey,” Calum mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

 

“Well, you guys don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” I frown. “I can just cancel the tickets and go alone. But I think my mum would prefer for you all to come with; I need the support.” 

 

“Your mum’s not coming?” Calum asks.

 

“No,” I reply, rocking back on my feet.

 

Michael and Calum exchange an unsure glance. “We’re not saying that we don’t want to go, Luke,” Michael says slowly. “We just think it’s kind of crazy that you’re spending all this money when you don’t even know if seeing Ashton will be beneficial for you.”

 

I sigh exasperatedly. “Look, guys, even if things with Ashton don’t work out, we can still have a great time,” I plead. “We’ll be in London for four days. That’s enough time to find Ashton, sort out that mess, and then no matter the outcome, we can go sightseeing and eat good food and just have a damn good time. A trip with time to bond may just be the spark we need to get the band started again, drummer or not,” I add, knowing how important the band still is to Michael. Hell, it’s still important to _me_ , but 5SOS was kind of Mikey’s baby, and I know she misses it. 

 

Michael bites her lip, looking torn, but I can tell from the look in her eyes that she’s already made up her mind. “Well, London does have some pretty great clubs,” she relents. I let out a squeal that could break glass, throwing my arms around Michael until she’s falling back on the couch.

 

“Thank you so much,” I breathe, giving Calum a quick hug as well.

 

“I didn’t even say yes,” he laughs, ruffling my hair.

 

“You didn’t have to,” I smirk as I pull away. I know if Mikey’s going, Calum’s sure to tag along, too.

 

“So, when do we leave?” Michael asks. 

 

“In two days,” I respond.

 

“ _Two days_? Luke, you asshole, I don’t even know if I’ll find my passport in time!” Michael screeches, already racing up the basement stairs. She’s definitely off to her room to go look for her infamous passport, which she’s lost more times than I can count.

 

“I’d better be off, too,” Calum murmurs, grabbing his keys. “Gotta pack and talk to my mum about it.”

 

“See you at the airport,” I call after him. 

 

Score one for Luke Hemmings.

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this at 12 am and for some reason decided to get all philosophical about teenage life so i apologize in advance for that.
> 
> also london is one of my favorite cities in the world hence its inclusion in my poorly-written story that will never do it justice. i'm sorry, london.
> 
> thank you for reading. :) please (try to) enjoy!

Twenty-Four

_I was a fool to ever leave your side_

_Me minus you is such a lonely ride_

_-Reunited_

London turns out to be an incredibly beautiful city. The mix of old and modern architecture takes my breath away, and even Michael has to tear her eyes away from her phone to take a second look. We check in, and Michael and Calum immediately head to their rooms for naps. I understand why they’re exhausted — our flight was 23 hours long, and I’m pretty sure Mikey spent most of her time blasting rock music, to the dismay of our fellow passengers. 

 

While Calum and Michael sleep, I get to have some down time, which I spend researching London’s culinary scene and some local clubs. For dinner, I make reservations at a tapas place, and write down the names of a few nearby clubs that don’t sound too sketchy. Confident I’ve planned the perfect night for us, I close my laptop and sink into the chair by the window. No matter where I am, the sky looks just a little grayer without Ashton by my side, though in this case, it’s probably just the normal, rainy England weather. Truth be told, I’m ridiculously nervous about tomorrow — that’s when I’ve decided I’m going to find Ashton. I’ve also chosen to go it alone, as any discussion of the past few months’ events should be kept between us. Michael and Calum don’t know yet, but they’ll wait back at the hotel as emergency moral support.

 

At least I won’t have to search through London’s yellow pages to find Ashton. The day before we departed for England, I went over to the Irwin household to see if Anne-Marie could be any help. Though I’d worried that Anne would isolate me just like her son (after all, they are quite close), the reality was the exact opposite. Anne-Marie welcomed me back with open arms, and as soon as I asked (explaining loosely that I missed him and wanted to go visit), I was handed a sheet with enough information to rival any database of ASIS. Apparently Ashton is interning for a company called Hi or Hey Records. Though I’ve never heard of them, I did some quick research before we left and discovered that Hi or Hey is an up-and-coming company, specializing in pop punk bands, and Ashton seems to be quite lucky to intern with them. 

 

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive about seeing Ashton. When I lost Ashton’s friendship, it was a quick, unexpected loss — a wound that took me by surprise, and seeing him at band practice every day didn’t help me to heal. I was a fool for sleeping with Ashton; I guess I’d thought it would give me closure, after I’d been denying my love for him for so many months, but that slightly-drunken mistake had the opposite effect. It probably made Ashton wonder if I just used him for the sex — I don’t think he would have slept with me if he thought I was drunk, because Ashton’s not the kind of guy to do things without your total consent. No matter — everything that happened before, during and after the Annandale gig definitely culminated in one huge fuck-up. There’s so many questions I’m dying to have answered — why did he leave? What was he going to say when he came to my hotel room that night? Does he still have feelings for me? 

 

That last question is probably the most important one of all — because to be honest, if he’ll have me, I’d still love to be Ashton Irwin’s. In spite of everything that’s happened, I know the Ashton I care about is still in there. If he left, he left for a good reason — I mean, I totally understand why he stopped talking to me after I turned him down in the car. Ashton was wounded, and he didn’t know how to deal with it, so he chose to stop dealing with the source of his injuries, probably so he could heal. A slightly selfish decision, yes, but I doubt Ashton had any idea what his silence would do to me. 

 

The truth is, we’re both just teenagers, and teenagers don’t always have a reason for everything. Sometimes, we just do what feels right, or we go by instinct to protect ourselves. Sure, later we’ll look back on it and think, _Why the hell did I do that?,_ but we certainly aren’t questioning ourselves in the moment. We make mistakes (or fuck up terribly in mine and Ashton’s case), we get hurt, but we lick our wounds, and then we move on and try to repair the relationships we’ve damaged. It doesn’t always make much sense, but that’s just how we _live_. And as adults, we’ll try to understand the actions of our teenage selves, but we’ll just never fully comprehend it like we did back then. We lose a little bit of our youth with every day that passes, and in that, we gain a little bit of maturity. We begin to understand that the people we idolize aren’t always who we think they are, we realize that our lives have a finite end, we grasp the concept of living for yourself and no one else. Cuz you see, when you’re a teenager, you think you’re living just for you, but you’re not. Often times —unless you’re part of that rare breed of free thinkers, the people who have never cared and will continue to never care,— you live by the judgment of your peers. Not only that, but you invest too much in people who won’t matter in five years and you love far too deeply. 

 

And that’s okay. It’s all just part of growing up. Granted, I’ve probably taken “growing up” to a whole new extent, but I’m learning from my mistakes. That’s what life’s about — living and learning and then living some more. I’ve learned from my errors with Ashton, and I’m hoping that soon enough, he’ll realize his (lesser) mistakes as well, and then maybe, just maybe, we can live and learn together — if he’s ready. God knows I am.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! it's been a while, i'm sorry. :( life gets in the way sometimes and unfortunately, that means my writing has to take a backseat. but i am back, albeit incredibly ill, so i apologize in advance if my updates have a few typos. my beta also has a very busy life and it can take her a while to edit chapters, but i don't want to keep you guys waiting, so i tend to upload things before she gets a chance to take a look at them. 
> 
> i will try to have this story finished by mid-April. I will be going on vacation next Saturday, and if I bring my laptop with me then I will try to work on this story. However, that may not happen, and I'm really sorry about that, but my family does not know about my writing and for now, I would like to keep it that way.
> 
> Anyway, here's Chapter 25! Although I'd originally planned for this story to be 27 chapters long, I'm going to add an extra chapter because I felt the need to split up a chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with the story! No trigger warnings for this chapter, yay :) 
> 
> xo,  
> L

Twenty-Five

_And you got those crying eyes_

_It makes me wanna surrender and wrap you in my arms_

_-Coming of Age_

After my bout of philosophical thinking, Michael woke up and Calum knocked on my door, ready for a night of good food and (not too heavy) partying. We did enjoy ourselves, the tapas restaurant being as good as it’d looked and the clubs being as slightly sketchy as they’d sounded. When I wake up the next morning, the dull ache of a hangover pounding in my head, I discover that Michael’s not in the bed next to me. I smile, recalling the intense gazes Mikey and Calum shared last night, and have a flashback of Michael never returning from “watching TV” with Cal last night. Though I’d doubted that late-night BBC 1 was a traditional after-club custom for Mikey, I’d seen through the flimsy excuse (given to me when I asked where she was headed after we returned from our partying) and waved my best friend goodbye.

 

The door connecting my room with Calum’s is unlocked, and when I sneak a quick peek into his room, I see that Calum and Michael are snuggled up in bed together, looking like the picture of true love. I’m happy that, after years of sexual tension and frustration all around, my best friends have finally gotten together. Here’s hoping that after today, I won’t be the odd one out. It’d be nice to come back from my little visit with Ashton in tow, even just as a friend. Otherwise, my life is going to be very awkward, with Calum and Michael paired up and me being the third wheel.

 

I gently shut their door, turning the knob so it won’t make any noise, and head back into my room. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s 7 in the morning, which means it’s 6 PM over in Sydney. I’m slightly tempted to call Marcia for emotional support (I have her cell on speed dial, at her request)but this is something I know I need to do totally alone. I think that no matter the outcome, if I can do this all on my own, then I’ll be proving some kind of emotional strength to myself that I lacked in the past. 

 

I sling my bag over my shoulder and slip out the door. My iPhone is clutched tightly in my hands, screen alight with the address for Hi or Hey Records’ London headquarters. In the elevator down to the lobby, I take the time to come up with a plan in my head: _1\. Find Hi or Hey Records. 2. Somehow find Ashton from there. 3. Get Michael and Calum Starbucks because, by now, they will certainly be awake and hungover._ Far _more hungover than you._

 

The elevator opens, and I stride into the lobby, flashing a grin at the hotel clerk. For some reason, I’m especially confident today, a combined product of therapy with Marcia and the newfound feeling of independence that flying to London has given me. Boots clicking on the marble floor, I exit the revolving door and walk onto the London streets. As the chilly blast of fresh English air hits me, I know that today will change my life — for better or for worse.

 

∞

The tall building stares me down, its glass exterior so intimidating that I’m already gulping down nervous breaths. In my defense, the skyscraper in front of me must be at least twenty stories tall — taller than most Sydney suburban structures — so it’s a definite change in atmosphere. Still, the large gray letters declaring “HI OR HEY RECORDS” on the building’s lower level are probably what scare me the most. 

 

I inhale deeply and stroll into the building, giving the receptionist a nervous smile as I head for the elevator. A helpfully labeled array of buttons leads me to press the fourth floor, where Hi or Hey Records claims to be located. My heart thuds out a nervous rhythm as the elevator speeds to the fourth floor, and I can’t help but wonder what’s waiting for me there. Am I speeding towards rejection? A new love? Forgiveness? Closure? I have no idea.

 

The elevator dings, doors opening on my fate. Hi or Hey’s offices are sleek for such a small space, all polished metal and sparkling glass. The office is completely devoid of life, save for one woman, typing at her laptop with a speed drag racers would envy. I push open the heavy glass doors and stand there, waiting for the woman to realize I’m there. When she doesn’t, I clear my throat, simultaneously scanning the room to see if Ashton’s maybe hidden in the back or something. No such luck.

 

At my noise, the woman has turned her eyes to me, still typing furiously. “Can I help you?” she asks. Her eyes are hazel, similar to Ashton’s, and it makes my heart ache.

 

“Um, yeah, actually,” I stammer, offering a small grin. “I’m looking for Ashton Irwin… I heard he was interning for your record label?” 

 

The woman’s fingers cease on the keyboard, and her hands fly to her ponytail, which has shifted slightly off-center. Neatly-manicured fingers adjust and tug at perfectly-highlighted locks until she’s satisfied. I wait patiently for my answer. Finally, she responds, “Oh, yeah. Ashton’s one of our interns. Unfortunately, he’s not in today. It’s his day off.” 

 

My stomach drops. “Oh, okay,” I murmur dejectedly. “Thanks for your help.” I turn to go, feeling the woman’s eyes on me, but just as I’ve got my hand wrapped around the door handle, she calls something out, making me stop in my tracks.

 

“Wait! Are you Luke Hemmings?” I freeze in place, slowly turning back around. The woman’s stood up, and now she stares at me, something clasped tightly to her chest, like she wants to protect it.

 

“Um, yeah,” I breathe, shoving fidgeting hands in my pockets. “How’d you know?”

 

“You fit his description.” The woman smiles, loosening her grip on the mystery item to reveal a letter. The messy scrawl on the envelope instantly tells me it’s a letter from Ashton. “He asked me to give this to you if you stopped by.” 

 

The woman steps closer, and extends her hand. I do the same, and she presses the letter into my hand. “Good luck,” she says with a wink. “That one’s a real keeper.” 

 

Thanking her profusely, I run to the elevator, envelope tucked safely in my jacket pocket. I’ve got the feeling that this is something I’ll want to read in private.

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! it's been a little while, so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to read. i'm so grateful to have your support - it means the world to me! i'm trying to finish up with this story, and i've still got some time before i go back to school, so rest assured, this will be done by mid-April. it's taken me a while to get chapters up, and i'm really sorry about that. i know i've said this before, but a lot of times, life just gets in the way and writer's block is also, unfortunately, a thing, as i'm sure many of you are all too aware of. 
> 
> just like for the last chapter, i haven't sent this chapter to my beta yet, so i apologize for any grammar errors, spelling errors, etc. if you notice something, you are always welcome to drop a message in my inbox and let me know! 
> 
> trigger warnings: mentions of hangovers, mentions of past self-harm. as always, if you're unsure about a chapter, you can always message me and i will answer any questions. please stay safe and do not read a chapter if you think it will trigger you. you can always just ask me to tell you what happened if you feel you cannot read a chapter.
> 
> thank you so much for all the reads, kudos and comments! i'm so happy to know that people are enjoying my writing. i love you all. 
> 
> xo,  
> L

Twenty-Six

_Break me down_

_Break me all the way down, before the night is over_

_Let’s get lost_

_-Let’s Get Lost_

Before I return to the hotel, I stop by a Starbucks, ordering the darkest coffees they have for Michael and Calum, who are surely so hungover I doubt they’ll be able to listen to me over the pounding of their own heads. When I get back to the hotel, Michael’s still not in our room, and so I knock on Calum’s door, unsurprised to hear that Mikey’s showering in his bathroom. 

 

“Where’ve you been?” Calum questions, leaning back on the cheap wooden desk. He graciously accepts my offer of Starbucks, though he winces as he sips it.

 

“The record label,” I answer. Calum chokes on his coffee.

 

“I thought we were gonna do that together,” Calum wheezes, coughing from the coffee in his windpipe.

 

“Yeah, well, I decided it was something I’d better do by myself,” I say cheerfully, perching on the edge of the bed. I hear the faucet turn off in the bathroom and know Mikey will be out in a few moments. Best save the letter-reading for when she’s around, or I’ll never hear the end of it.

 

“How’d it go?” Mikey asks, toweling off her hair as she emerges from the bathroom. She’s only wearing a towel, and I chuckle to myself as I hear Calum suck in a breath at the sight.

 

“You knew about this, Michael?” Calum raises an eyebrow. “How come no one ever told me?”

 

“She didn’t tell me,” Mikey scoffs, flopping down next to me on the bed. “I’m her best friend, Calum. I just _know_.” 

 

“But we’re all best friends,” Calum protests.

 

“You wouldn’t understand, Cal,” I laugh, exchanging a glance with Mikey. “Us girls just have a sixth sense. Your Y chromosome disqualifies you from that quality, unfortunately.” 

 

Calum fakes a pout, and as I look around the room at my friends, I feel truly happy for the first time in a while. Gazing at the scene in front of me, I know that even if Ashton doesn’t come back to Sydney with me, I can still be happy without him. Yes, there will be a hole in my heart that no one will ever really fill, but I realize now that I can still move on and allow myself to really _live_ like I’m supposed to.

 

“So, how _did_ it go?” Mikey prompts. My fingers graze the envelope hidden in my jacket.

 

“Surprisingly well,” I answer. “He wasn’t there, but he left me a letter. The secretary said he was a ‘keeper.’” I pull out the envelope, letting Mikey and Cal examine it for a few seconds before I gently slide the letter out. It remains turned over in my lap as I hesitate to read it, unsure if I’ll like the outcome.

 

“Are you gonna read it or what?” Michael hisses. Sensing my discomfort, she adds softly, “Look, Luke, if it’s gonna hurt it’s gonna hurt, might as well rip the band-aid off, right?” I nod quietly and turn the letter over, eyes scanning the paper with a speed my first-year teacher would be proud of.

 

** Dear Luke, **

** If you’re reading this, then I guess Mum’s spilled the beans and you’ve figured out where I’ve gone. Yes, it’s true — I ran off to London to intern at this record company. It’s a great job, really — I love working with the bands and it’s lovely being surrounded by music every day. I get to play the drums in my spare time and I have a nice flat with a wonderful roommate. Everything’s perfect, really. **

** But I can’t help but wonder how you’re doing. I know I was an asshole. I’m sorry. I could try to explain everything to you, but it’s too long to write out on paper, and anyway, I think that’s a conversation that should be held in person — which brings me to my next point.  **

** Luke, you need to let me go. I’m not worth all the pain and trouble I’ve put you through. The truth is, even if you forgave me this time, I’ll end up hurting you again, and I don’t want that. You deserve someone better than me, someone who will help you with your recovery and someone who you can really put your trust in. And I am not that man. **

** Go back home, Luke. Hang out with Michael and Calum and find a new drummer for the band. Make 5 Seconds of Summer into something great and work to achieve those dreams you’ve talked about so much. I’m not worth sacrificing all that! I know you’ll find yourself in LA one day — sooner than later, too. In fact, in a few years I’ll probably turn on my TV and find you at the Grammys. That’s where I think you, Michael and Calum are headed. You’re headed to fame and fans and more possibilities than I could ever dream of. **

** Good luck. Remember that you’re worth everything and more. **

** xx Ashton **

 

Tears gather in the corners of my eyes as I finish reading. I can feel the good intentions radiating from the letter, and Ashton’s concern for me is clear in his words, but a part of me just doesn’t buy it. After everything we’ve been through together, I find it hard to believe that he doesn’t think back on our connection and wonder if it’s maybe worth another shot. Even if we can’t head back to Australia together, I wouldn’t mind being friends with Ashton, despite the huge distance between London and Sydney. But giving him up completely? Losing that bond and pretending it never happened? Acting like I never met the hazel-eyed boy with the dazzling smile and bouncing curls? That’s impossible, and Ashton should know me well enough to realize that.

 

“What’s wrong?” Michael asks, noticing my distressed face. Gone mute, I hand her the letter, allowing her to read it for herself. Mikey mutters a curse under her breath when she’s done, before showing the offending item to Calum. 

 

Calum’s face crumples at the sight. “I’m so sorry, Lukey,” he murmurs, sitting on the other side of me and rubbing my back. 

 

“What do we do now?” I whisper, face buried in my hands. “I mean, we came here just to find Ashton, and now it all seems completely pointless…” I trail off.

 

“We can still enjoy the city,” Calum assures me. “There’s tons of stuff to do in London, and you don’t have to let this taint your experience. We’ll have fun together; we don’t need Ashton anyway.” I know he means well, but I still wince at the last part.

 

“Wait, guys,” Michael says suddenly. She’s turned the letter over in her hands and is now scanning it eagerly. “There’s something on the back.” She hands the letter to me, and I read the messily-scrawled words as fast as possible, heart racing a million miles a second.

 

** But I know you’ve never liked doing what’s good for you, so here’s my address. Come whenever you want; I’ll be there. I hope you have a damn good argument ready. **

 

There’s an address below, and I think it’s just a few blocks from Hi or Hey Records. Ashton Irwin, here I come.

 

∞

I explain to Michael and Calum that, just like my visit to Hi or Hey, this is something I’d like to do on my own. Though Michael’s clearly worried, they let me go without too much fuss, and once again I find myself on the crowded London streets, making my way to Ashton. 

 

After a half hour of struggling through huge crowds, I finally reach the address Ashton wrote on the letter. The apartment building is old and run-down, nothing like the pristine condos of Sydney — but then again, it’s exactly the kind of place I’d expect Ashton to rent. He’s never been one to value luxury or fancy penthouses, although I doubt he’d be able to afford that with his intern’s salary anyway. 

 

I cautiously approach the intercom button, which is half-cracked open, exposing a few of the wires underneath. This apartment building, from the rusty fire escape to the peeling walls, is clearly in need of repair. Praying I won’t get electrocuted, I quickly press the intercom button, heart thudding in my chest as I wait for a response. 

 

I get my answer a few seconds later, when a girl’s voice crackles over the speaker. “Who is it?” she demands. I’m frozen, unsure of what to say or do, checking the directory over and over to make sure I’ve got the right apartment. _Yup, Apartment 107, that’s Ashton’s._ “Hello? Anyone there? Ugh, I swear, it’s probably another bloody drunk,” the girl complains to someone in the background — and there it is, that distinct giggle I’d know anywhere. 

 

Ashton’s with a girl. Clearly, I’m not needed anymore — that letter must be old.

 

Tears pooling my eyes, I shove my hands in my pockets, walking away from any hope of a future with Ashton. _Stupid… Should’ve known better… Ashton’s too good for you… You scared him off… You don’t deserve him…_ Rain starts to fall, and I silently curse myself for not bringing an umbrella — rain was in the forecast, and it’s England, I should’ve known better. If the water pouring down on my head wasn’t bad enough, the voice is trying to make a comeback, whispering nasty things in my ear, curled up close to me like an old friend I’ve found again. _Why would Ashton want you? You’re a mistake to him; he regrets ever befriending you. He took pity on you and became your friend, and now he’s seen your true colors, why would he want you back in his life? He probably wrote that letter when he was drunk. He doesn’t really care, you gullible little girl. No one cares about you, especially not Ashton._

 

The distant heat of a hand on my shoulder breaks me out of my daze. Someone whispers, “ _Luke_ ,” and I’m spinning around to confront them, but then I’m being pressed into a familiar hug and smelling a familiar cologne and oh my _god_ it’s Ashton. He’s holding me to him and it feels so nice, so good, so _right_ that I can barely process my own emotions. I’m crying, I know I’m crying because I can feel the cold wet on my cheeks, and a part of me is aware that I’m probably soaking Ashton’s t-shirt with my rain-dampened jacket, but at this point I don’t think either of us care, we’re just holding each other and I never never _never_ want to let go.

 

But after an eternity, we do let go. I’m shaking, wondering if this is just some weird hallucination produced by my Ashton-starved brain, but I know it’s real when I take a step back and he pulls me towards him again, caressing my cheek so gently it hurts. It makes me feel like he’s treating me as some sort of porcelain doll, and Ashton realizes this, knows that I’ve always told him I’m not the doll-like damsel in distress, so he drops his hand to his side and simply looks at me for a few moments. “You’re really here,” he murmurs. 

 

The only thing I can think to say back is, “And _you’re_ really here,” and I say it so breathlessly that Ashton can’t help but laugh.

 

“I missed you,” he says softly. “I know I messed up, Luke, I messed up _so_ bad, and I don’t deserve to have you in my life anymore. I wish I could explain everything that I did, but I can’t. Seeing you in that bathroom, though…” Ashton pauses, eyes shining with tears. He wipes at them with the sleeve of his hoodie, smiling sadly. “I couldn’t get that image out of my head. I had to leave because I knew I was at least part of the reason why you did it, and I couldn’t live with that guilt. So I did the cowardly thing and I accepted the internship — which I’d applied for months ago, back when I thought the band wasn’t going to take off — and I came here, and I’m sorry Luke, and I know I can’t say it enough times and I know sorry doesn’t mean anything or even start to make up for what I did but—” Ashton’s rambling is interrupted when I press my mouth to his. He’s surprised at first, but he relaxes into me, kissing me back just like I’d always dreamed he would. He tastes like cinnamon candy.

 

When I pull back from the kiss, Ashton’s breathless. “Wow,” he sighs. “You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming of that.” I chuckle at how dazed he seems. A smile flashes across Ashton’s face, but then his brow furrows.

 

“Wait,” he says slowly, “does this mean you forgive me? Because I’m not sure I’m deserving of forgiveness, Luke. I treated you like shit, and you’re so much better than that. You’re so much better than me. I don’t want to make you bad again or anything—”

 

I cut him off, unwilling to let him go on with this self-hating rant any longer. “Let’s get a few things straight. First of all, you’re not going to make me ‘bad again,’ Ashton,” I state. To emphasize my point, I roll up my sleeves, showing him the faded silver-pink scars on my arms. “I’ve been going to therapy. I’m a lot better now, and I can take care of myself. I’ve got a great support system and people who love me. Whether or not you decide to be a part of that picture, I’m going to be okay.” Ashton’s obviously on edge, pressing a thumb into his lip as he mulls over this information.

 

“And it’s not a situation where we can confidently say that one person is better than the other,” I continue, pushing my sleeves back down. “I treated you pretty badly, too. I said things I didn’t mean, never bothered to explain things that you misunderstood. Ash, when I said I couldn’t trust you because you were you, that was just me trying to say that I have a hard time trusting guys after Alex. For so many years, I’ve always put this wall up, tried to act like I’m tougher than I am — but I’m not that tough, and you got my walls down pretty quickly. There’s just something about you that makes me want to trust you, even back when I thought that might not have been a good idea.”

 

Ashton opens his mouth to say something, but I hold a hand up to stop him, not done yet. “So for such a long time, I went back and forth between pushing you away and letting you in, because I was scared to trust you. I was scared I would mess up again and I would have another Alex situation on my hands; I wasn’t sure I could handle losing you like that. But then I realized that you’re not Alex, and you’re not Cameron, either. You’re not Calum, you’re not Ben or Jack — you’re not anyone but _you_. And if I feel like you’re trustworthy, then I should trust you, because Alex is the only one who did that awful stuff to me,” I explain. “I shouldn’t blame you — or any other guy — for Alex’s actions. You are not him. Because you know what you are to me?”

 

I wait a few moments, allowing Ashton to answer if he wants, but he simply shrugs. “You’re my sunshine,” I fill in the blank. “Which sounds cheesy, and I know it’s pretty corny, but it’s true. You make me laugh, you support me, and you’re just always _there_. And I’m sorry for hurting you like I did, just like I know you’re sorry for hurting me. So I hope we can forgive each other and move on — hopefully as more than friends, but I’m okay with whatever you’re comfortable with, as long as I just get to have you back in my life.” I choke up a little bit on the last phrase, but I let out a breath of relief when I’m done — it feels good to get that all out after so long.

 

“I’d love to have you back, Luke,” Ashton says quietly, eyes searching mine for any hint of a lie. I know he’ll only see the truth in my eyes, just like I only see honesty in his.

 

My mind flashes back to the voice on Ashton’s intercom, and I realize I have one more thing left to say. “I just have one question — who was that girl on your intercom?” I ask. Ashton looks confused for a few moments, before doubling over with laughter.

 

“That was my colleague, Sophie,” Ashton tells me through his giggles. “She came over to ask me for advice on her girlfriend, and I ended up telling her all about you in the process.” 

 

I can’t help but laugh, too. “Oh my god, I’m sorry,” I snicker. “I thought that was your new girlfriend or something.” 

 

“Speaking of new girlfriends, how would you feel about going on a date with me when we get back to Sydney?” Ashton says nonchalantly. 

 

“I’d love to — wait, back to Sydney?” I can’t help it; I might have just squealed a little bit. “You’re coming back to Sydney with me?” 

 

“Of course I am,” Ashton says sweetly. “Sydney’s where you are, and I don’t want to live in a city where you’re not just a short drive away.” 

 

I practically launch myself at the curly-haired boy, tackling him in a massive bear hug, the kind I haven’t enjoyed since last December. “Now we just have to pass this by Michael and Calum,” I murmur into Ashton’s shoulder.

 

He freezes. “Oh, shit. I’m _really_ not looking forward to dealing with Michael.” He wriggles out from my grip. “But if it means I get to go back to Sydney with you, then I’ll deal. Let me just grab my umbrella and then we can go.”

 

I grin widely as Ashton dashes back to the apartment building. “I’m sure you’ll be fine — though I refuse to claim liability if Michael murders you for leaving,” I call over my shoulder. And suddenly, even though I’m soaked to the bone and standing in the pouring rain, I’m totally happy — and that’s a feeling I’ve been missing for a long time.

 

 

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, the final chapter of "little plastic crown" (or what i've affectionately referred to as "fem!luke story" for the past few months). I'm just going to abbreviate the title to LPC (Little Plastic Crown) from now on so I don't have to write the whole thing out - yeah, lazy me, I know.
> 
> There will be an epilogue, so I'll wait until then to get all sappy and everything, but as always, I'd like to say thank you for reading, bookmarking, commenting, leaving kudos, etc. It's great to know that I have supporters out there, despite all my procrastination and general laziness. I appreciate every kudos, every bookmark, every view, and every comment. I started writing this story at the insistence of T (this account's co-owner) and a few other close friends, but it wasn't until I posted it on AO3 that I really started to get motivated to finish it. If not for all of your support, I probably would have abandoned this at Chapter 10, simply because I've got a terrible track record for sticking with my ideas. Without a lot of motivation, I get discouraged at the first hint of writer's block, and then I stop writing and move on to another project. I'm so glad that didn't happen to LPC, because this story has actually kind of been my baby (T can attest to the endless amount of texts, emails and G-chats I've sent her about it) and now that it's pretty much done, I'm very proud of it. I know I have a lot of room to grow as a writer, and I'm okay with that. I know I'll probably look back on LPC one day with a lot more knowledge and think, "Wow, that really wasn't very good," but for now, I'm proud of this story and I am happy with how I did it. 
> 
> So much for not rambling. Ugh, sorry about that. It'll be even worse when I post the epilogue (I apologize in advance). Anyway, please try to enjoy. No trigger warnings for this chapter (this was my best attempt at fluff). Thank you for reading, and I love you all!
> 
> xo,  
> L

Twenty-Seven

_Oh I would carry you over fire and water for your love_

_And I will hold you closer, hope your heart is strong enough_

_When the night is coming down on you_

_We will find a way through the dark_

_-Through the Dark_

Thankfully, Michael’s so distracted by how happy she is to see Ashton that she (temporarily) forgets all about her past vow to knock his lights out. Everyone’s just grateful that Ashton’s back with us — I think Calum even cries a little bit, though he’ll never admit to it. 

 

Of course my best friends have plenty of questions for Ashton, which he dutifully and thoroughly answers, even though I can tell it makes him a little uncomfortable. Once she’s done with her part of the interrogation, Michael’s wearing a satisfied expression, although I know it will still take her a little while to fully trust Ashton again. Calum’s not quite as upset as Michael, so his questions aren’t as intense and don’t take as long. Still, when it’s all said and done, I feel a little bad for Ashton — this has to be exhausting for him.

 

Just when I think we’ve moved past the awkward part, Michael decides to speak up. “I’ve got something to say,” she declares, leaning against the hotel room wall. With her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed, Mikey definitely looks menacing — I wouldn’t blame Ashton if he got a little scared right now.

 

“Yeah, you’ve had something to say for about the past hour,” Calum jokes. It falls flat, and Michael shoots him a death glare. “Sorry, carry on,” Calum mutters, scuffing his shoe on the ground.

 

“I just wanted to let Ashton know that he’s not off the hook yet,” Michael says, fixing her gaze on our former drummer. He gulps nervously, and a saccharine smile settles on Michael’s face. She’s enjoying Ashton’s obvious intimidation. “The moment you do something to hurt Luke,” Michael continues, stepping closer to Ashton’s spot on the bed, “you better lock your doors, because I’ve come up with a neat little system of justice. Every time you make Luke cry, I break a piece of your drum kit. Starting with the drumsticks, and finishing with the cymbals.” Ashton’s eyes widen, and Michael’s grin grows larger. “Got it, drummer boy?” she hisses.

 

“Got it,” Ashton nods furiously. At his meek response, the fire dissipates from Michael’s eyes, and she starts to look like herself again.

 

“Good,” she says. “Guess I’ll tolerate you for now.” 

 

Calum and Ashton have already hugged it out, and I obviously had my talk with Ashton before anyone else, so I’m pretty sure we’ve cleared up all the elephants in the room. Now we need to figure out our plans for the immediate future.

 

“Ashton’s said he’s going back to Sydney with us,” I state, settling into the desk chair. “So that means we’re gonna have to get him plane tickets.” My laptop’s on the desk in front of me, and I power it on, fingers flying across the keyboard as I type in my password and wait for the WiFi to connect.

 

“Wait,” Ashton interrupts. “I don’t know if I can pay for plane tickets yet, Luke. My salary will just barely cover the cost of breaking my rental contract… I don’t think I can afford to buy a ticket back to Sydney. Not until next month, at least.” 

 

“I’ve got you covered,” I assure him, pulling up the British Airways website and entering in the flight information. “Don’t worry about it.” 

 

“But Luke, that’s going to be £1918 — that’s almost $4,000 in Australian dollars!” Ashton cries, peering over my shoulder at the computer screen.

 

Sighing exasperatedly, I turn around in my chair and face Ashton. “Look,” I say slowly, “when I came here, I’d already set extra money aside to buy you a plane ticket. It was a stretch, but I was hoping I could convince you to come back with me, and I wanted to be prepared. Now you _are_ coming back with me, and I’ve already got the money, so don’t stress about it, okay?” 

 

Ashton’s forehead creases with doubt, but he relents anyway. “Okay,” he mutters. 

 

I can’t help but smile to myself. Luke: 1. Ashton: 0. 

 

∞

With all of our grievances against Ashton addressed and duly noted, the four of us can finally begin to enjoy our time together. With two days left before our return flight to Sydney, we try to cram in as many touristy indulgences as possible. We go sightseeing, stuff our mouths with enough Indian food to burn our tongues for days, ‘take tea’ at London’s fanciest hotels, go clubbing a few times, and generally just appreciate being with each other — something we haven’t been able to do in a long time. We go to the Tower of London, and after viewing the exhibit displaying the crown jewels, Ashton insists on buying me a cheap replica of the Queen’s crown at a nearby souvenir shop. We ride the London Eye, and while Michael and Calum practically hook up in the next cabin over (thankfully, the Eye’s essentially deserted on that day), Ashton and I kiss 443 feet above London. 

 

I’ve never had so much fun in my life; I’ve never felt so at peace with the decisions I’ve made. All the stress, tears and heartache I’ve been through these past three years seems worth it when I look around and realize I’m enjoying a beautiful city with my three best friends (well, two best friends and one best friend/unofficial boyfriend). To think that just a few months ago, I was willing to throw this all away and give it to a razor blade… I can’t quite comprehend it now, but I know that at the time, it made sense to me — and while that does sadden me a bit, I’m just thankful to be as happy as I am now.

 

Now we’re on the flight back to Sydney. It’s a long haul (23 hours) and Michael has already dozed off on Calum’s shoulder. Ashton and I have been discussing our plans for the future — and then the thought crosses my mind. _5 Seconds of Summer_. It’s a subject I haven’t touched upon for a while, and I know that 5SOS is pretty much damaged beyond repair, but I still feel like I need to confirm that with Ashton and make sure he’s okay with ending the band — after all, he technically never left it. “So, what are we gonna do, Ash?” I ask. After his bag of complementary peanuts, Ashton’s busy licking the salt off his fingers, but he pauses and listens anyway.

 

“What are we gonna do about what, Luke?” Ashton questions. When I don’t answer, all Ashton has to do is take one look at my face, and he instantly knows what I’m trying to say. “Oh, you’re talking about the band?” Ashton crumples the peanut bag wrapper in his hand and shoves it in his jean pocket. “I thought you were over that, Lukey. Thought we all were, actually.” 

 

“I don’t know,” I murmur, absent-mindedly tonguing my lip ring. “I mean, I obviously ruined our chance at America when I messed up the Annandale gig, but 5SOS just keeps popping into my head. It’s like something is nagging at me, y’know? Like it’s always in the back of my mind, bothering me.” 

 

“You didn’t necessarily ruin 5SOS, Luke,” Ashton says gently, taking my hand in his. He intertwines our fingers and gently squeezes, our classic way of comforting each other. I relax slightly, though I’m still on-edge, tapping one black Converse on the edge of my seat in my own nervous rhythm. 

 

“We can always start over,” Ashton reminds me, tracing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb. “The Annandale doesn’t have to be the end of the band. Sure, there were a few agents there, but there will always be other agents, and there will be other gigs — if we’re willing to work to get them. It will take time, but if we reach out and regain those fans we lost and make new ones, we can find our way again.”

 

“You think so?” I whisper. My eyes land on Michael and Calum, snoring peacefully in the seats across from us. 

 

“I know so.” Ashton smiles at me and kisses my cheek. I smile back at him, settling my head on his shoulder, the same pose that Mikey and Cal adopted an hour ago. We just lie there, listening to each other’s breathing and the noises of the plane around us, until Ashton suddenly taps me on the shoulder. I look up at him, and the enthusiasm on Ashton’s face can only mean one thing — he’s got a plan for something.

 

“I have an idea,” Ashton says excitedly. “Remember that YouTube account you made with Michael and Calum when you were like, fourteen?”

 

I nod slowly, unsure of where he’s going with this. “Yeah, hemmo1996? How do you even know about that? I don’t think I ever told you—”

 

“Mikey likes to embarrass you when she’s drunk,” Ashton cuts in with a smirk. “Let’s just say she wanted your opinion on your level of, and I quote, ‘adorableness’ when you were a fourteen-year-old.” 

 

I bury my head in my hands, groaning in shame. “Oh god, that sounds just like something Mikey would do.”

 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Michael’s emo fringe, while somewhat adorable, did not do her any favors,” Ashton consoles me. He clears his throat. “Anyway, moving on. You stopped using that YouTube account when you started dating Alex, right?” 

 

“Yeah,” I confirm. “Haven’t touched it since then.”

 

“What if we turned hemmo1996 into a joint band account for 5 Seconds of Summer?” Ashton suggests.

 

“You think that’s a good idea? I mean, I don’t want to delete anything on there, but what if people see our old videos and think we’re unprofessional, or untalented or something?” I worry. 

 

“That’s not going to happen, Luke. Those videos are just a memory of who you were before you really grew up, and anyone who watches them will know that,” Ashtonreassures me. “And if the YouTube account doesn’t work out, we’ll just close it or stop using it, okay?” 

 

Looking at the hazel-eyed boy next to me, simple warmth and love emanating from him, I know I’ve got someone I can put my trust in. “Yeah,” I tell him. “Let’s give it a go.” 

 

Ashton grins, and all my worries disappear. “hemmo1996, here we come.” 

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the end, the epilogue. i've worked on Little Plastic Crown since December, and it's now April, so that's about three months of planning and writing that I've put into this. That's not a lot of time, considering the years that other authors on AO3 will spend on their works, but it's a lot of time for me, so thank you for motivating me to do that. Every view, comment, kudos and bookmark has inspired me to keep going and keep writing, and I am very grateful for that. THANK YOU.
> 
> Note that every infinity symbol is like a jump forward. So the next scene after the infinity symbol jumps forward in time. If that's confusing or you need clarification, feel free to message me or comment below -- it's 1:32 in the morning where I am so I'm probably not making much sense.
> 
> There will be a sequel to this story. I need to go back, re-read this, and then start planning. I will write an outline for the sequel, just like I did for LPC, but that will take a week or so, and then it'll be probably another week before I post the first chapter. I do have some ideas written down already, so that will help me in the planning process. I'd estimate that Chapter 1 of the sequel will be out by early May.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me. 
> 
> xo,  
> L

Epilogue

_I once was a kid with the other little kids_

_Now I’m ripping up shows and them fans going wild_

_-Opposite of Adults_

"Luke! Get your ass over here! You’ve got to check this out!” Calum calls from downstairs. Standing in front of my bedroom mirror, I give up on trying to fix my ridiculously bad hair day. Relenting to the frizzy mess that is my hair, I throw on a beanie and clamber down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Cal, Mikey and Ashton are already piled onto the sofa, all jostling for a better look at Calum’s iPhone.

 

“What are you all so excited about? Please don’t tell me you’ve stumbled onto the dark side of YouTube again,” I groan, squeezing in between Calum and Ashton. 

 

Calum rolls his eyes. “Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared is _not_ the dark side of YouTube, Luke. Whatever, just look at this.” He shoves his phone into my hands.

 

“Twitter again? Fuck, Calum, we _just_ changed the password last week, don’t tell me you forgot it again,” I whine.

 

“I didn’t forget the password, asshole! Just read it,” Calum insists. I give in and take a look at the screen in front of me — and what I see almost makes me drop Calum’s precious iPhone 4.

 

It’s a tweet from Louis Tomlinson, one-fifth of the world-famous boy band, One Direction. While their poppy music isn’t exactly our style, we all admire their vocal talent and their deep appreciation for their fans. Normally a tweet from Louis Tomlinson wouldn’t warrant a second glance, but this isn’t one of Louis’ normal life-of-a-pop-star tweets. No, this is far from any normal tweet, because it mentions us.

 

The tweet says, “ _Been a fan of this band for a while, everyone get behind them_ ” and includes a link to our acoustic version of our latest original single, Gotta Get Out. There’s already 40,000 retweets and 50,000 favorites, and it’s only been a few hours — and the video Louis linked to now has a couple million views and more comments than I can count.

 

“Guys,” I whisper, “this is it.” 

 

∞

“That was great, guys,” Joel declares, clapping his hands. “I think ‘Beside You’ is going to be a huge hit.”

 

Calum laughs, setting down his bass guitar. After months of writing and practicing in London (with the help of Joel Chapman and Christian Lo Russo, two people I never thought I’d get to meet) we’ve finished a few songs that we’re really proud of, and now we’re in the studio going over them. “You really think so?” 

 

“Definitely,” Joel says confidently. Michael lets out an excited cheer, and Ashton pounds enthusiastically on his drums. We’re all ecstatic, smiling wide and in disbelief that we could be so lucky. The last time we were all in London together, we’d been sure that 5 Seconds of Summer wasn’t in the cards for us. Now, here we are, recording songs with some of our musical idols and preparing to release our second EP. 

 

We sure have come far.

 

∞

 

_Ring. Ring. Ring._ Ashton and I break apart from our kiss as my cell phone goes off. When we both see the caller ID flash “Louis Tomlinson,” I know this is a call I’d better answer. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I answer with a breathless, “Hello?” 

 

“Luke Hemmings,” Louis says smoothly on the other end. “Just the girl I was looking for. Sorry to call you so late, I know it’s like 8:30 at night in Australia, but we’re on tour right now and this is probably the only time I’ll get to call you. I’ll make this quick, I just have one question for you, if that’s okay.”

 

“Yeah, of course,” I say immediately.

 

“How would you like to go on tour with us?” Louis asks.

 

I drop the phone.

 

∞

November 21st. It’s a day that I know I will never forget. A grinning Ashton by my side, I type out the most important part of the latest 5SOS newsletter:

 

** “We also have some AMAZING news which is really exciting for us - we’ve recently signed to Capitol Records!! They work with artists like Sick Puppies and Katy Perry (Cal is planning to propose soon, despite many threats on Michael’s part. Will keep you updated…). Our team is awesome and really believes in us and our music — some of the best and coolest people we’ve met :)”  **

 

Tears gathering in my eyes, I’m forced to stop my work and turn to Ashton. He frowns, immediately noticing my shiny eyes. “What’s wrong, babe? Why are you crying?” he questions, brushing a thumb across my cheek.

 

“I’m just so happy,” I confess. “I mean, we made it, Ash. We got signed. Two years ago, we didn’t even think that was a possibility.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ashton murmurs. “Who knew four crazy teenagers could end up here?”

 

∞

“Sydney, thank you so much! Goodnight!” I yell as the last chords of ‘She Looks So Perfect’ fade away. Taking one last look at the shrieking crowd, I secure my guitar strap and head off-stage. Calum and Michael follow me, while Ashton has to take a different route to get to the dressing room. We’re all sweaty and nasty from a two-hour, high-energy show, but hey — it was worth it.

 

“What’d you think about the concert?” Ashton asks, already waiting for us in the dressing room. He tosses me a bottle of water and throws Michael a bottle of water. 

 

“Crowd had a lot of energy,” Calum comments. “It feels weird to be performing in our home town, though. It’s been a while.” 

 

“Yeah,” Michael agrees. “But at least we’re coming back as something big, something Sydney can be proud of.” She puts her guitar in its case and grabs her bag. “We should head to the hotel. It’s getting late, and Calum and I need our beauty sleep.” Michael leaves for the car, and Calum trails after her. Once they’re gone, Ashton and I burst into laughter — we know Mikey and Calum only say that because they know Ashton and I take forever to leave the dressing room, and they want a few extra minutes to make out in the privacy of the car.

 

“I’m actually set to go,” Ashton admits. “You almost done?” He eyes my guitar case, which is still splayed open on the floor.

 

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Go ahead; I’ll be out in just a minute.” Ashton nods and departs for the car. 

I finish putting away my guitar and double-check the room, making sure we didn’t leave anything. My bag’s resting on the table, and I sling it over my shoulder, pausing when something shiny falls out. When I move closer to grab it, I realize it’s the plastic crown Ashton bought me in London, still shining after all this time.

 

I leave the crown on the table. A part of me will always stay in Sydney, even if that’s not how I originally wanted it to be. Maybe my future started in a city 10,553 miles away, but Sydney is where I found the people who shaped my future. I hated this town for so many years, but this is where I found Michael, who taught me how to take care of myself and how to love myself. This is where I found Calum, who taught me kindness and patience. And this is where I found Ashton, who taught me trust and forgiveness. 

 

Sydney gave me an important part of myself — it gave me the people who love me the most. I hated this town for so many years, but maybe it’s time I thank it, even if it’s just with the little plastic crown I kept with me for a year, the little plastic crown that never failed to serve as a reminder of those who love me.

 

There, Sydney. Thank you.


End file.
